


kick at the darkness til it bleeds daylight

by cosmicocean, princessparadox



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, BUT I PROMISE THERE'LL BE FLUFF IN CHAPTER TWO, Electrocution, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, HAVE A LITTLE FAITH IN US, I HAVE PUT THE FLUFF AND ANGST TAG IN HERE, M/M, Project Blackwing (Dirk Gently), SO I FEEL I SHOULD WARN YOU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, THE FIRST CHAPTER IS BASICALLY ONLY ANGST, that's what it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 01:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 34,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11864082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicocean/pseuds/cosmicocean, https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessparadox/pseuds/princessparadox
Summary: Blackwing takes the Name on Dirk's skin. Then it takes Dirk. Then it takes Todd. Then it takes and it takes and it takes from the pair of them.





	1. one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the two of us were plotting this story, Hannah said something that neither of us have ever said working together, which is "do you think that's TOO angsty?"
> 
> So if you have any familiarity at all with our work, you have all been warned.

Dirk finds out when they're lying in the Jeep that night after digging up the first part of the Patrick Spring machine. Dirk can't see Todd in the backseat, just staring up at the night sky. 

"I feel like anything could happen now," Todd says suddenly in the quiet. "I feel like I could touch the sky. I could find a better job. Better apartment, better life. I could even find my soulmate."

"Did you not think you would?"

"I..." his tone gets a little cagey like it does when he doesn't want to talk about something, but Dirk really wants to know, so he waits. "I don't expect nice things. And I don't deserve nice people."

"Of course you do. Don't be silly." That he possibly couldn't is ridiculous. Todd is the best person he knows and even if he doesn't know a lot of people, he's sure it'll be true of everyone he'll meet onwards. He's cranky, of course, but he's brave and he's kind underneath the moodiness, and Dirk likes him more than he's ever liked anyone. 

(He may even have other feelings, but it's been four or five days, and that _can't_ be enough, he must be tricking himself, so he tries not to think about them or feel them too much)

There's a shift against the upholstery that Dirk thinks is a shrug. "What about you?"

"I don't have a Name."

"Wait, really?"

“Yes."

“Not even a Platonic?”

“No.”

"That's really rare."

"So I've been told." He traces the Big Dipper with his eyes. "I was at this place once," he begins hesitantly. He never talks about this. He wants to share it with Todd. "It was... it was a CIA place. Called Blackwing. And they had people like me there. Other than scientists and doctors and agents and such, it was people like me. And when I went in, you know, I was too young to know much about these things. I would have gotten mine around the time I went in, but it never did. And they told me it was one of the things that made me special, that I'd never had one. It meant that... I was meant to be with them and not with anybody else. And I thought this was true of everyone like me, but it wasn't. It was just me. So I think I don't get a person. I think I get the universe, and I just keep being pulled along by the cosmos. That's what I have instead of a person."

"You don't like being pulled along by the cosmos," Todd says quietly.

"I'm not sure that matters."

"But it's not fair.”

"I don't think that has anything to do with it, either."

Todd's quiet for a minute. "You said you were there before your Name manifested."

"Yes."

"You were ten?"

"Ish. I thought I'd be a late bloomer but apparently not."

"That's not fair, either."

It's Dirk's turn to make upholstery shrugging noises. "Is what it is."

Todd's silent again.

"I hope you find someone who isn't the universe," he says abruptly. "Whether you have a Name or not."

Dirk almost tells him that he has. Stupid traitor tongue. "Thank you."

"Maybe you'll find them someday." Todd's starting to sound sleepier. He wonders if that has something to do with him being freer with his words. "Maybe I'll find Svlad."

The bottom drops out of Dirk's stomach. His skin somehow goes hot and cold at once. "Pardon?" he manages. 

"My Name. Svlad Cjelli." Todd yawns. "I always figured at least I'd find him easy."

"Oh." Dirk's voice sounds mostly normal. Can he pin the weirdness down to being awkward about other people saying their Names when he doesn't have one? He could, right? "That's interesting."

"Yeah." He yawns again. "I'm going to try and sleep, my arms ache from digging."

"Sleep well, Todd."

"Sleep well, Dirk."

Todd's breathing evens out fairly quickly. Dirk doesn't think he's ever been more awake in his life. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

_Fuck._

  
People who are born without Names don't have soulmates out there with the Nameless's Names on them.

This is something Dirk knows. It's something he can't _not_ know, as not having a Name. He'd looked it up when he got out. People don't lack matches. Everyone who has a Name pairs with somebody.

And it's too coincidental. He doesn't know how many Svlad Cjellis there are in the world, but one (former) Svlad Cjelli meeting the man with that name on him? Too coincidental. Too connected. Too much. 

Which means he wasn't born without one. 

Which means someone took it away from him. 

Which means it could only be one person. Persons. Organization.

Dirk hadn't even know they could _do_ that.

And it would have been when he was probably ten. It's usually ten, from what he understands. 

Which means it would have still been Riggins pretended to be his friend. Care about him. Want to protect him. While he was authorizing them to remove his Name, make him think that he was alone in the universe, to try and make him loyal to them, warp his thinking. You are alone in the universe. Accept us instead. What are your options?

Discovering new lies in retrospect that Riggins has told him isn't a new experience. Not even close. And they always hurt a little. But this is just... massive. This might be the biggest one he's ever found. 

And it's _Todd_.

It's the person he'd want it to be.

And this can't be possible. His life doesn't work like that. He'd meant what he said to Todd. Fair doesn't matter. What he likes doesn't matter. Life happens. He doesn't get to have things. He doesn't get to keep anything that isn't the name he gave himself. He doesn't get good things. He doesn't get _wonderful_ things. He only rarely gets happiness.

Well. Dirk doesn't even know if he gets any of this at all.

Todd won't say he's his friend. He seems interested in the case, but people have before. Usually downright nasty and rude, which Todd hasn't been, really, just generally irritable, but interested. People leave. They always leave.

And Todd would be saddled to him. To someone who death keeps happening to. To someone who gets jerked around by the universe.

Todd deserves better. Todd deserves so much better. 

But it's his name. And now he's expressed hope of finding him. Now he might not try and find someone else, someone who didn't fall in love with their designated Name and could make him happy. Have an apartment. Maybe a pet. Job. They could hold hands. Kiss each other. Wake up in the same bed. Be happy.

And that's another reason he doesn't deserve Todd. The idea of him with somebody else, someone who isn't Dirk, makes him ache. Makes him almost nauseous. And that's not right. He shouldn't feel like this about him being with someone else when it could make him happy. 

(now that he knows his name is Todd's Name, he can't shove those feelings away anymore)

(he has to know now, he has no choice anymore)

Does Dirk tell him? Does he say anything? What's the kinder option? He won't want it to be Dirk if he doesn't want him to be his friend. It would snuff out that hope. He doesn't want to take hope away. That doesn't feel right. But then Todd could spend his whole life looking for someone he's already found. That can't be fair either. What's right? What hurts him less?

He takes a while to fall asleep.

 

Dirk doesn't tell Todd when he wakes up. 

He only mentions it took a while to fall asleep.

He doesn't know what to say.   


Todd telling him he faked the pararibulitis doesn’t change his mind. He’s still good. Dirk still wants to be around him as often as possible.

He still doesn't tell Todd when he says him that they're friends. He wants to. Wants to tell him everything, from meeting him before Todd met him, that he might not have a Name anymore but that the one on Todd belongs to him, that Dirk's his. 

But tentative hope's whispered into his brain, that maybe someday, maybe in the future, maybe maybe maybe.

 

Dirk shouldn't have lied to him about the Perriman Grand. 

Should he tell him about the Name? This can't be lying. It’s just not telling him everything. But neither was the Perriman Grand. The Perriman Grand was strategic no-truthing, he’d thought, but that’s the same as lying, really. So is this lying? Will this make Todd angrier? Well, it’s not even angry anymore. It’s not wanting to hurt him anymore than he already has. That’s the goal at this point. Because Todd will leave. And he’ll be right to do so. And Dirk will never see him again. Their lives will diverge, parallel lines once more. Todd will only think of him as an asshole, that bastard who ruined his life. Dirk might not be able to think of him without it hurting too much. He might not be able to do anything else.

It must be easier to lose the belief that you will find someone than know that the someone you’re supposed to find is someone you hate.

He doesn’t say it.

 

There’s a definite part of him while he’s bleeding out with two arrows in him that knows that if he dies, he no longer feels uncomfortable about not telling Todd who he really is.

 

When Dirk wakes up in the van he knows can only be the CIA after getting slammed on the head while looking at the suited asshole he’d seen with Riggins, he doesn’t open his eyes.

He has friends, he reminds himself quietly. Farah was going to put money into the agency. She believed in him.

_Todd_ believed in him. Todd was his friend. _Told_ him he was his friend. Gave him a shirt, which sounds minor, perhaps, to everyone else, but Dirk can’t _actually_ remember the last time he got a gift. And Todd didn’t know this, which means he didn’t do it to feel impressive, and probably not magnanimous, either. He did it to do it.

If it weren’t for people like the ones dragging him back to the place of his nightmares now, he’d have had Todd’s name somewhere on his skin.

Dirk grits his teeth and tries not to cry.

 

The jumpsuit looks the same as it did when he was a child. Just bigger.

The room is probably the same size as it was when he was a child.

Feels smaller.

 

48 hours later, Wilson, the new boss, and Friedkin, the man built like a mountain and seems as smart as one, sit Dirk down in an interrogation room that looks _just_ like it did years and years ago. White room. Two way mirror (and he remembers, suddenly, being ten years old, and brightly and curiously asking why they needed a mirror in here, did they really need to look at themselves, did they not have mirrors at home, and the look he got in return). Plastic table. Plastic chair on each side. Wilson is sitting in a sharp outfit, hands in her lap. Friedkin is standing over her shoulder, arms folded, obviously there to look intimidating (it’s working). His file isn’t on the table. The message is clear. Wilson has read it carefully. She knows who he is.

She gives him a rundown that, honestly, isn’t anything unexpected. He is a fugitive from the law and has been since the age of sixteen. As such, he has been successfully reapprehended and will remain in custody for as long as the newly reinstated Blackwing program believes is necessary. He will comply with all protocols and regulations as set down by Blackwing and enforced by new Blackwing Director Hugo Friedkin, or he will be punished. Questioning these protocols and/or regulations will also be cause for punishment. Does Icarus understand?

Dirk’s not in any mood. Doesn’t really care about consequences. He raises his eyebrows.

“Depends,” he says coolly. “Am I allowed to leave if I don’t?”

Friedkin looks at Wilson like he’s waiting for permission to hit Dirk. Dirk waits to see if she’ll give it. 

Instead, she smirks.

“We had in our file from before that you’d liked to talk.” Wilson’s tone is far more mild than her face suggests. “I was curious to see if it had changed in sixteen years. You were deceptively quiet earlier.” She gestures for Friedkin. “That was the last insolence that will be tolerated. Bear it in mind.”

 

Dirk never even sees the others in passing. When he was a child, the younger subjects were allowed to see each other once a week and no other subjects, except he supposes for the Rowdy Three, who must have always been grouped together. They were to use logic puzzles, word games, anything that pushed them to think. They weren’t allowed to talk about their abilities. Couldn’t use any names other than their project designation. He remembers them vaguely. He remembers Incubus #4, because he hasn’t stopped seeing his face for years. Marzanna would play Connect Four with him, and he thinks he knows who she is now, two faces overlapping.

Now, he is marched by one guard, occasionally two, through the halls to the rooms where he’s tested. He never sees anyone else. His meals are delivered to his room.

It makes sense, he supposes. If they see each other, they can conspire. No one subject can break out on their own.

 

Some things are the same. They take blood. Inspect it. Take more and inject the samples with new things. Dirk assumes injecting him directly means it would take more time to get out of his system, and delay their work. They put him on exercise equipment like somehow jogging will amplify his powers. Dirk asks them once if they have proof that the elliptical makes the universe shout at him louder. The guard in the room hits him hard enough that his back hurts too much to keep going, and since he can’t even stand for very long at the moment they can’t even test to see if pain plus movement equals some kind of result, so they send him back to his cell, which isn’t so bad, really, he gets to lie on his stomach in bed for the rest of the day and that’s worth his back in enough pain that he aches when he wakes up.

The food, that’s not new either. Still chews like rubber, still tastes like erasers (Dirk had suspected as a child that the food had tasted like erasers so he’d gone out of his way to try one when he got out and yup, he was right), still just enough to keep them alive and relatively mobile.

Lots of things don’t change.

The business with the electrodes is… a definite difference.

Or maybe it isn’t. He was a child. Riggins omitted some things from what they were allowed to do to him. This could have been a regular thing. Probably _was_ a regular thing. They’ve tightened security from what he can tell, but other than that, the new Blackwing’s motto seems to be “if it’s not broke, don’t fix it”. He and the Rowdy Three would not be on even ground for a long time if they were allowed to see each other, but he thinks of how old Vogel would have been coming in, and how Riggins wouldn’t have protected Vogel from things like that, and, well. Some things make a little more sense.

 

Dirk’s proud of himself that it only takes him four days to train himself to stop screaming when they shock him. It makes Friedkin look annoyed, which is more than worth it.

 

This is another difference between the first Blackwing and this one.

When it came to knowing time during the last one, they were all about confusion. Muddling the line between here and the outside world. He only knows he was ten when they got rid of his Name because he remembers now when it would have been, it would have been when he’d woken up in the hospital one morning and Riggins had told him they’d taken his appendix out. He doesn’t have a scar. He’d just assumed they had some fancy technology that didn’t leave one. It was close enough to when he came in that he would have had to be ten. Other than that, the only other thing he knows is how old he was when the breakout happened. He’d only found out how much time has passed once he got out.

This isn’t their approach now. Now every morning from a small speaker in Dirk’s room and he presumes the rooms that all the projects are stored in, the amount of days that have gone on in here emanates, too loud to ignore. Now they want them to know what that line is. There is the rest of the world, and it has no bearing on Blackwing. Time will not be muddled. They’re being punished. And they’re going to know exactly how many days they have spent here.

So Dirk knows for a fact that it has been three weeks and two days since he was dragged back here when Friedkin decides no scientists today, he’s going to be the only one to observe Dirk’s tests today. Which can’t really mean anything good, but Dirk’s willing to bet he just wants to goad him into some kind of reaction. Sometimes he’ll shove him a little, but Friedkin’s honestly not that inventive, and Dirk’s figured out by now that Wilson doesn’t want them injured to the point where they’re no longer useful.

What’s the worst he can do to him, anyway? He’s got him here. They keep pushing him. Poking at him with needles, drawing out what’s inside him literally as well as physically. Barely feeding him. Locking him away. _Bloody wires strapped to his head._ What else is there? What could Friedkin _possibly_ do?

Dirk keeps going back and forth on the value of wooden tables in situations such as this. Logically, he knows that splinters under his nails would be another terrible thing. It would hurt and Blackwing of course wouldn’t do anything so he’d have to take them out himself, and then they’d probably get infected, and then who knows, maybe they’d cut off his fingers because he doesn’t need those for their purposes. But on the _other_ hand, there is nothing satisfying about raking his fingers across the plastic table when they send another jolt through him, no purchase in digging into something so smooth. Dirk’s nails are never going to carve grooves into the surface, and he’d like to, like to show that he is fighting back, that there is a record that he will not break himself for them.

Just because he has been relatively quiet does not mean that he has surrendered.

The shocks stop. Dirk tries to catch his breath. They grate out of him like sandpaper. His hands shake where his nails are still pressed against the table, like there’s any chance they could drag trenches. They always do after this. Being electrocuted that one time in the death maze had been terrible. Seeing Todd get electrocuted with the crossbow wire was almost worse, especially knowing what he’d known, that all his future knowledge had run dry and he didn’t know if Todd survived from that point out. This is… bad. On that scale, this is very bad.

But he doesn’t let it wrest his mouth open, won’t allow it to pry his gritted teeth apart.

Friedkin yanks the wires out of the machine in question, but not from Dirk’s head, the electrodes still secure. He’s still staring at the table, trying to gather himself still. This is new, whatever Friedkin’s doing, and can’t possibly end well. But it’s not like he can do anything about it anyway, and he’s better off marshaling himself.

“Seriously, why the fuck aren’t you screaming anymore?” Friedkin snaps.

“Maybe,” Dirk rasps, not moving his eyes. “You just aren’t that frightening.”

“Not that- we’re the _goddamn CIA._ ”

“Yes.” Whatever Friedkin will do to him is worth knowing that he is irked now. “I had gathered.”

“God, you’re such a _freak._ ” Dirk doesn’t even flinch. The word no longer means anything to him from people like Friedkin. “It’s no wonder even the fucking _universe_ wiped you of anyone who’d care about you.”

Dirk knows exactly what he’s referring to, and he can’t help it.

It starts out as a giggle, bubbling up past his throat.

“What?” Friedkin demands. “What the fuck are you doing?”

The giggle turns into a laugh, hoarse, something close to but not quite cackling. Dirk finally looks up, knowing that he’s grinning a little manically. Friedkin looks unnerved for the first time since Dirk’s known him. Good.

“I know,” he says, when his laughter has died down to something that permeates his voice but does not choke it. “What you did.”

“I didn’t do shit, what the fuck-“

“I know what you _did_ ,” he repeats. “Last time. All of you. You took my _Name_. You thought you could hide it from me forever, but you _didn’t_ , I-“ he laughs again. “I _know._ ”

Friedkin’s staring. “How could you-“

“I know because I _found_ him.” He can’t stop grinning, can’t help but lord this over Friedkin. “I _found_ him, when you people managed to convince me I never would. He has my name on his back, my first one, the one I tried to leave behind with _you_ people.” The laugh comes back. “I have a reason to _care_ about that name again.”

Friedkin doesn’t say anything, which is unusual. Dirk plows ahead, trying to keep shoving with his advantage.

“You took something away from me, but _you fucked up._ You fucked up for your future. Because now you don’t know who he is. You don’t know his name, you can’t find him. You can’t _ever_ find him. I _have_ someone, and he’s incredible, and I love him _so much._ I love him so much more than you could ever begin to understand. You can’t find him and you can _never_ take that away from me.”

Dirk can say the word _love_ now, he thinks, now that he’s never going to see Todd again, now that it’s a word he’s no longer terrified to think because he doesn’t know how to grapple with it yet. He doesn’t have to anymore. Some things get clearer in here. He loves Todd. And he will never see him again. And that is _amazing_ , because Dirk is never going to get out of here, and the one good thing about Blackwing is that Todd’s not stuck in here with him. He can certainly say it to Friedkin, to hurl against him like a spear, to prove that he is not defenseless here, that they can not rip everything away from him. For the first time in his life, he is thrilled to be alone, the reverse of what they’d wanted at the start.

Friedkin’s quiet for a moment, face still.

Then suddenly he’s the one laughing.

Dirk’s thrown. He thought he’d get hit. Maybe hooked back up with the electrodes for kicks. Friedkin looks delighted which is.. Dirk doesn’t know what to do with that.

Friedkin pulls on his radio. “GUYS,” he says excitedly. “HE DID THE THING. YOU’RE IN THE CLEAR.”

Dirk stares. What thing? Who’s in the clear for what? Is Friedkin going to have loads of people come in and beat him up? Was there some secret signal Friedkin decided on? If Dirk delivered it, extra pain?

Friedkin grins. “Dude, I can’t fucking believe it. I was so worried I wasn’t even gonna _get_ anywhere today, and then you just set me up for it _so well_ , I feel so _cool_ , god, you did something _right_ for a change, seriously, thank you, this is great.”

Dirk doesn’t know what’s coming, but he knows it can’t be good. He’s still unsettled but ready to square his shoulders, when something slams into his gut like a sucker punch.

Sometimes his intuitions nudge him. Sometimes they shove at him. They’ve never kicked him this hard before, never so bad that he physically flinches. The hit washes over him.

Something bad is coming.

Something very, very, _very_ bad.

Dirk can hear, distantly, shouting, muffled by the walls. It’s not some group all yelling. It sounds like one person causing a commotion. Bellowing, but the walls are all thick. Perhaps the personnel don’t like to hear it when the subjects scream.

There’s a loud bang on the door and Dirk knows that whatever’s about to happen, it will involve whoever comes through that door, and it will destroy him.

“Yeah, do it,” Friedkin calls. The door opens and someone is shoved in, still cursing up a storm, wearing a tattered blue plaid shirt and jeans, hands not even cuffed together. There’s a cut on his cheek.

The world somehow, paradoxically, is rushing and frozen at once.

Todd’s not even looking around. He is instead bellowing at Friedkin, taking a threatening step towards him. Dirk lurches away from the table, skittering back until his back is almost to the opposite wall, like maybe the further away he is, the more likely the distance between him and Todd will continue to stretch, until it’s so far that Friedkin either can’t find him or loses all interest. Todd does look then. He looks stunned and, briefly, hopeful. “Dirk?” Then he frowns, taking in the electrodes that Dirk suddenly realizes are still glued onto his head, how badly his hands are shaking (and god, his entire body is trembling now, but his hands are the way they get after a session with the electrodes, practically vibrating), how no doubt all the spots where the electrodes are attached are red like normal.

“What happened to you?” he whispers and Dirk wants to tell him, no, he doesn’t want to tell him, he wants to say _something_ , anything, he wants to use his voice, but he can’t, his tongue’s too thick, his mouth’s too dry, words won’t come. Dirk looks at Friedkin, who still looks pleased as punch, wishing that dropping to his knees and begging would have any influence to make him let Todd go.

“Routine testing,” Friedkin says casually. “Fucks him up a bit afterwards and man, I tell you, he was a little chatty before you got here, but oh boy, does he seem quiet now, huh? Aw, look, his hands are like hummingbirds.”

Todd looks horrified. Furious. He takes a step towards Friedkin. A noise makes its way out of Dirk’s mouth somehow, something frightened, and that seems to make Todd stop as much as Friedkin holding up a hand.

“Whoa there.” Friedkin gestures at the electrodes. “Do you think that’s pleasant for him? You want to find out?”

Todd stops. He turns back to Dirk, both at opposite ends of the medium sized room, a table and an ocean between them.

“Dirk,” Todd says quietly again, like he’s trying to calm him down, how could he be trying to calm him down, Todd is the one in danger here, Todd is the one they will hurt to reach him, _something terrible is going to happen to Todd_.

“So this is the guy, right?” Friedkin says. Dirk feels like his entire body is scrabbling, he wants to scream, wants to beg him not to say what he’s about to, but he still can’t talk. “This is the guy you were just talking about? The guy you said you were in love with?”

The air is still and silent. Todd’s eyes have gotten huge in his face. Dirk can’t breathe. He thinks he might throw up. Friedkin’s face shifts from expectant to worried.

“Dude, you gotta let me know somehow if this is him or not, cause if we somehow got the wrong dude Wilson is gonna be _pissed_ and I gotta find something to do with him.”

Dirk doesn’t like the sound of that.

His head jerks in what’s more of a spasm than a nod, but the meaning carries. Friedkin relaxes.

“Oh, cool.”

Dirk has to look at Todd. Can’t look at Todd. Can’t look anywhere _other_ than Todd. Todd’s staring at him. Dirk can’t read his face. Dirk’s body still isn’t working, he can’t even begin to jumpstart his brain to go with it.

“God, what’s your problem right now, Icarus?” Friedkin stops. “Shit, sorry, I forgot, you don’t like that name, do you?”

No.

Please, no.

“I mean, come on, you love him, right? More than I’d ever get, that’s what you said, I think. And you look so fucked up! You think you’d be _happy_ to see the guy with your name on his back, Svlad.”  
All the blood drains from Todd's face. Shock renders it blank but there’s something in his eyes that just _stops_.

Dirk can distantly hear all the little detonations that make up the end of the world.

“Oh, wait.” Friedkin’s voice drips with fake concern. “Didn’t he mention it?”

“I didn’t know until the woods,” Dirk whispers. “I was going to tell you. I was going to- I wasn’t going to just-“ 

He can’t finish. His voice is cracked. He’s scared. He’s so scared. It’s not even the kind of fear that might help him right now, the kind that might numb him and make this so much easier, it’s the kind that makes him aware that he has never been this scared in his life, that everything inside him is ripping apart.

But he has to let Todd know.

He hasn’t been stringing him along. He hasn’t known this whole time. He wasn’t going to just. He wasn’t going to be able to. _Someday._

Another lie, another lie, another lie, another lie, another lie.

A lie that is going to cause Todd pain.

Even _more_ pain.

Dirk’s caused him so much pain.

The knowledge that there is nothing Todd can possibly do but hate him runs through his entire body like a runaway train, that any chance he might have ever had to just even be in his life has vanished, that Dirk has taken a crowbar and jammed it so hard between them that everything has _split_. His knees are shaking. His lungs are misbehaving even more.

“What the fuck are you talking about woods for?” Friedkin asks. “We’re in a _building_. What’s wrong with you? Other than the obvious, I mean. Anyway, this is _insane_. Not once in this base’s history have we managed to find a soulmate before, everyone else has such generic names. And we were looking to pick him up anyway, we knew you liked the dude and we thought we could use it, and then we catch him, _and your fucking birth name is on his back_. God, I bet you tried to forget so hard it was your name, and then he’s got it! This is an _insane_ score. We always wanted to test what being soulmates with someone would be like with you people, _and then we got one_. Now we have the chance.”

Todd. Test. Pain. _No._

“Please let him go.” Dirk’s voice is raw as he begs. He’s got to try. He’s _got_ to try. “Please. I’ll do whatever you want. Anything. Everything. Please.”

Todd’s mouth opens but nothing comes out. Friedkin tilts his head. He looks like he’s considering it and there’s a glimmer, barely there, that maybe, maybe Dirk can bargain his way out of this, maybe he can save Todd, maybe he can get him out, and he won’t ever even want to come back, won’t ever want to see Dirk again, and it’s slowly shredding Dirk inside but at least he’ll be _safe._

“Nah,” Friedkin says casually, and without looking withdraws his gun and shoots Todd in the side.

Dirk jerks like he’s the one who felt the impact. Todd is still upright, swaying, hand against the red leaking through his shirt, looking stunned.

Dirk is jolting and suddenly he’s there, he’s catching Todd as he goes down, Todd’s in his lap staring up at him and if things were slowly shredding before now everything is _abruptly exploding_. Todd’s mouth is working like he wants to say something, but there’s only choked sounds coming. He keeps trying to touch Todd’s face, cradle it, do _something_ , but his hands are still shaking too badly from before.

“Todd,” he gasps. “Todd, Todd, I’m so sorry, please, I’m so sorry, please, please, please, no, Todd, no, no, no, please, I’m so sorry, no, Todd, Todd, _Todd_ -“

His hands have started just running over his body in general and now there’s blood on his hands, Todd’s blood is on his hands, his vision is blurring with tears and he can’t see properly, what if this is the last time he sees Todd and he can’t even see him, _what if this is the last thing Todd ever sees and it’s the face of the man who has lied to him and signed his death warrant-_

Dirk doesn’t know when the other guards came back in the room but suddenly he’s being yanked away from Todd, torn from his arms, lying there on the cold white floor and there’s _red_ there, there’s red around Todd and he’s just _lying_ in it.

Dirk’s not sure what the litany of words coming from him are. He can’t even hear them anymore as he’s dragged back to his cell, gripping him tight despite all his desperate attempts to get out of their grasp, get back to Todd, find out if he’s okay, just _see_ him, doesn’t know what the words spilling out of his mouth are.

Maybe they’re just sounds. 

It feels like all he’s capable of making right now anyway.

 

Dirk can’t imagine he’ll live very long at all, but is certain that for the whole space of time he has left, he will never remember the fifteen minutes after he is shoved into his cell, the door slammed behind them.

When he is aware again that he is a person, he is sitting on the floor. He is in his boxers, his jumpsuit stained with Todd’s blood hurled in the corner. There’s bloody handprints smeared on it and when he looks down, his hands seem to be almost entirely devoid of blood. There’s blood on his knuckles. Some on the concrete floor right next to them. His face is wet with tears.

He wishes he would sink back into the nothingness. 

 

The next morning, they drag him to the exercise equipment like nothing’s changed.

“Did you kill Todd?” Dirk asks the scientist there. It doesn’t matter that she didn’t pull the trigger. She works for them. She’s just as culpable.

She purses her lips. “Get on the treadmill, Icarus.”

He sets his jaw to stop it from trembling. “Where’s Todd?”

“I’m not going to ask you again, Icarus.”

Whatever will come next if he doesn’t comply, he knows, will be bad. “Tell me what you’ve done with Todd.”

She sighs, frustrated, and nods at the guard behind her. Dirk gets slammed in the shoulder with a nightstick. He staggers, the wounds from the crossbow burning.

“”Icarus-“

“Is Todd dead?”

The other shoulder. He actually goes to his knees this time.

“You’re getting on that treadmill, Icarus, or we keep hitting you.”

Dirk thinks sometimes that they try and call him by his project name every sentence to remind him that he has no agency. He’s well aware. He looks up at her.

“I’m not using it,” he tells her. “Until you tell me what’s happened to Todd.”

He gets hit in the back this time, collapses to his hands as well.

“What did you do-“

 

“What do you see on this-“ This scientist starts, holding up the back of a card, like he expects him to be able to see through it.

“Unless it has the answer to what’s happened to Todd,” Dirk says, body still bruised and aching. “I don’t care.”

 

“We’re going to drug you if you keep talking, Icarus.”

Dirk’s still strapped down to the chair. He looks at the needle in the doctor’s hand.

“They won’t let you drug me because you can’t do what you need to do to my blood. Tell me where Todd is.”

 

“Dude,” Friedkin snaps. “You gotta stop _fucking_ doing this. You are goddamn _useless_ right now. Why shouldn’t I just fucking shoot you?”

Dirk’s vision’s a little hazy. He tries to focus on Friedkin as much as possible.

“Like you shot Todd?” he rasps.

Friedkin makes a strangling motion. “ _Christ_ , stop saying his _name_.”

“If you tell me what happened to him, I won’t have to.”

“What if I told you that his body’s in a fucking ditch?”

Dirk’s stomach churns. His hands shake even more than usual. “Is it?”

“None of your goddamn business.”

He takes a deep breath. “Tell me what you did with-“

Friedkin motions at the scientist. “Turn that up a notch, would you?”

The electricity hits harder than before. He shudders through it.

 

Dirk has been in Blackwing for five weeks and two days when he wakes up in the morning to see Wilson standing in his cell, arms folded. Dirk doesn’t even move. He just lies there and looks up at her.

“Icarus.” She sounds frustrated. “You are being uncooperative.”

“How difficult for you.”

“You can’t keep-“

“You took the person I love most,” he interrupts, knowing full well people who interrupt Wilson don’t usually survive. “The most important thing in my universe, and you shot him in front of me. And you won’t tell me if he’s alive. Until you tell me what you’ve done, either way, I’m not going to do anything for you.”

“We’re going to keep hurting you.”

“You hurt me anyway.”

“We could kill you.”

“You could kill me any time. I might as well die for something worthwhile.” He raises his eyebrows. “I have nothing left to lose.”

She glares at him. Then she knocks on the door and is let out, leaving Dirk alone.

 

For five days, nothing happens other than what has become the new usual, Dirk pushing back against everyone here to find out where Todd is, everyone else punishing him for it, so on and so forth. His body aches all the time. He’s exhausted. He’s miserable. He doesn’t know why Wilson came to see him when he feels reasonably confident that she’s never even been in a cell before, but he assumes it can’t be anything good. Maybe it’s a prelude to them giving up on him and killing him. He’s not sure. He assumes at one point, they’re going to get tired of the questions.

It doesn’t matter. He has to know what happened to Todd. Doesn’t want to hear them say he’s dead, doesn’t want to imagine what his reaction will be, doesn’t want to break down in front of _fucking_ Friedkin. But he has to know. He can’t stay in this limbo for the rest of his life.

It is on the morning of what is precisely the six week mark that his door is opened. Dirk looks up to see Friedkin with a guard at each of his shoulders.

“Up,” Friedkin commands. He could sit and refuse to move, but he tried that a few times in the beginning, and they’d usually just hit him and drag him, so Dirk slowly acquiesces. The guards frog march him through the normal hallway until they suddenly take a new turn, one Dirk’s never taken before.

Wonderful. Something new. Some new corridors, some new fresh fucking horror they’ve devised. Is this it, perhaps? Have they finally decided he’s more trouble than he’s worth? Do they have execution rooms? Hopefully they’ll do it quick, get it over with, but this is Friedkin, so he could draw it out. What if it’s something worse? What if they’re taking him to Todd’s body? What if it’s just maybe his shirt, soaked with blood, and nothing else? Something else for Friedkin to taunt him with, to refuse to answer?

Dirk could ask, of course. But no one will answer him, and there’s something off about Friedkin, and the last time there was something off about Friedkin, Todd got shot. He doesn’t want to push it.

They come to a door without a window. Friedkin looks at the two guards. “Stay by the door, go in when I tell you to.”

They nod. Friedkin orients Dirk in front of the door.

“I’ll be watching. If you pull anything stupid, you’re not going to like the consequences.” Dirk doesn’t even have a chance to respond when Friedkin opens the door, shoves him through it, and closes it behind him. Dirk stumbles a little, glancing to the right instinctively. Two way mirror. A test of some kind? He goes to look around the rest of the room, and everything in the world winks out of existence, the mirror, the room, the rest of the world.

It looks almost entirely like a normal hospital bed, except for the restraints that are around Todd’s wrists, despite him being unconscious and looking so pale and thin he probably couldn't do anything even if he was awake, despite an IV in his arm keeping him there. But his breathing is even. The heart rate monitor isn’t even wavering, the steady noise the only sound in the room.

Todd’s alive.

Todd’s not going to die from his injuries.

_Todd’s right here_.

Dirk’s body protests as he lightning fast moves to Todd’s side, standing over him, reaching out and hesitantly touching his face with a shaking hand. He doesn’t stir but his cheek, now covered with a light beard thanks to (he presumes) being too out of it to shave and Blackwing’s probable refusal to give him a razor anyway (the subjects are brought in for grooming every two weeks, hair cut, face shaved), is warm.

“Todd,” he whispers. Todd of course doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to.

There’s no chair, nowhere for him to sit, so instead he kneels on the floor next to him, wrapping his hand around Todd’s, clinging to it desperately.

“Todd,” Dirk says again. “Todd, I’m so _sorry._ ”

His voice breaks. He knows Friedkin’s probably watching. Probably being filmed for Wilson to watch later. Doesn’t matter. This could be the last time Dirk ever sees him. They might hide him away for the rest of their lives, they might kill him right here after letting him get a glimpse. Todd can’t hear. But Dirk needs to know that he said something.

“I’m so sorry, and I know you must hate me, and you have _every_ right, god, I _lied_ to you, I lied to you once and I saw how much it hurt you and then I just _kept doing it_ , and I was confused and scared and it just all happened so _fast_ , I didn’t have anyone connected to me for all my life and then it turned out I _did,_ and I didn’t know what to do, but I should have _looked_ , I should have _seen_ what to do, just from what I’d done before and how badly I screwed up, and I _didn’t_ , I just kept _lying_. And I was _going_ to tell you, but I didn’t, and maybe if I told you, you’d have been mad enough then that you’d have left, and you wouldn’t have been _here_ , Todd, I got you shot, I got you dragged to this, this _fucking_ place-“

His hands are shaking. It’s not even from the sessions with the electrodes this time. He thinks he’s leaving marks on Todd’s hand. Maybe he’ll see them and be repulsed that Dirk came, but it’s still proof that he was here, that this happened.

“I can’t fix this,” he whispers. “I broke this, all of it, I broke _you_ , and I can’t mend anything again. But if I could, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I’d fix all of it, everything I could that meant you would be safe, that this wouldn’t have happened. I love you, Todd, I love you so much, and if I could save either of us, any of us, it would be you, it would _always_ be you, and I’m so sorry that I can’t, that it can’t be me. You deserve so much better, and I’m sorry that better isn’t me, I’m sorry that you’re not with someone out there in the world, someone who hasn’t gotten you hurt or thrown in a prison or isn’t a fucking _anomaly_ , someone _normal_ , who hasn’t dragged you into a whirlwind of terrible, who _wouldn’t_ even when you protested all the way.” Dirk presses his lips to the back of Todd’s hand and closes his eyes. “I love you,” he murmurs against it. “I knew people could fall in love, but I never knew anyone could love anyone else like this.”

Todd’s hand twitches in his. Dirk’s head shoots up, staring at his face. His face stirs a little too.

“Todd?” Dirk sits up straighter. “Todd.”

The door suddenly opens. Someone is prying his hand off Todd’s.

“Come on, come on,” Friedkin snaps. “Before he actually wakes up.”

“ _No_ , no, you can’t, Todd, I’m here-“ They’re dragging him back now. He opens his mouth to shout, in the hope that Todd will hear, but the guard that is practically carrying him, Dirk’s feet skidding off the floor, clamps a hand over his mouth. Dirk bellows against it, desperate, but it’s too muffled, no possible way for Todd to hear it, and he’s getting smaller and smaller, further away, _always_ further away, until the door is shut, and he’s gone.

 

Dirk wishes, in a way, he’d lose time now the way he’d lost it after Todd had been shot, because the internal battle that rages after seeing him is savage enough that he’d like only to have the aftermath and not what went on.

Because Todd’s _alive_. All those nightmares of waking up to discover they’d thrown Todd’s body into his room, of Todd bleeding out in his arms, every possible fear he’d had that Todd was gone, waking or otherwise, no longer there. He’s alive. Dirk touched his face. Held his hand. His heart had been beating. He’d been there. He’s alive.

But he’s not _okay_. He’s not _remotely_ okay. They’re still stuck in here, and Todd’s still been shot. Because of Dirk. And they’re both trapped in here now. And they’re not going to hesitate to use Todd against him. Hell, they already have. Todd is in permanent danger, and it’s all his fault. They’re going to keep wielding him like a weapon. They’re going to keep pointing him at Dirk. _Because_ of Dirk.

Todd’s in the control of the people who shot him to slowly destroy the person who loves him more than anything and he hates the most.

Over the course of the rest of the day, before he cries himself to sleep, a few strands of hair come out from where he was pulling at it.

 

The next morning, when they take him to work on the exercise equipment, Dirk runs without comment, entire body feeling curiously empty, dull. His entire existence is flat. The scientists, he can tell, are pleased.

 

Friedkin grins when they’re gluing the electrodes to his head.

“Not so chatty now, are you?” he asks triumphantly.

Dirk says nothing.

 

Dirk might know exactly how long he’s been in here day by day, but the rest of time is a blur of pain and exhaustion and blank grayness.

 

At eleven weeks and four days, Friedkin comes in to one of the sessions where Dirk’s in the middle of an electrode session and he groans loudly, waving at the scientists to stop for a second.

“Dude, how the fuck did you even _deal_ with it when he went crazy?” he demands.

Dirk pauses. Friedkin talks to him to taunt him, but he doesn’t ask him genuine questions like this usually. “When who went crazy?”

“Brotzman. How the fuck did you deal with it when he’d just like drop to the floor and start screaming, like sometimes it’s hilarious, but god, sometimes it’s just _annoying._ ”

Dirk’s stomach lurches at the idea of Todd screaming in pain so intense he falls to the floor. “What?” What have they done to him to make him do so? Is it Dirk’s fault? What did Dirk do wrong? He’s been trying so hard.

“”You know, the thing he’s got.”

Dirk keeps staring at him. Friedkin stares back. Then comprehension of some kind dawns on him and he starts laughing.

“Oh _man_. You don’t fucking know. He didn’t tell you? I thought for sure he’d tell _you_. Fuck, this is _priceless_.”

“I don’t understand.” Saying that is always a gamble with Friedkin, something that feels like tipping his hand, but he doesn’t, and he needs to know why Todd’s in pain.

“I can tell, it’s all over your face, it’s fucking great.” Friedkin grins, shaking his head. “He’s in pain or at least fucking upset about something on his body every other goddamn day or so and you don’t even know.”

Dirk frowns, trying to piece together what he could be talking about, what could be happening to Todd, what he doesn’t know-

_In pain or fucking upset about something on his body every other goddamn day or so_.

Oh.

Oh no.

Friedkin laughs again. “Oh, dude. Your face.”

Dirk only hears him dimly. He doesn’t know when this could have started. Doesn’t believe Todd was lying to him when he said he didn’t actually have pararibulitis. So it must have happened after Dirk went in.

Todd has pararibulitis.

He’s in pain every day even without the being shot part.

He’s stuck in here.

He has no medication.

Most of these things are Dirk’s fault.

Dirk distantly hears Friedkin taunting him. It doesn’t register.

When they shock him again, he doesn’t scream, and he feels all right about the crying, because those tears were there already.

 

“So,” Friedkin tells him at thirteen weeks and six days during an exercise session. He’s started showing up at sessions other than the ones where they shock him. “Guess what brilliant idea I had?”

Dirk doesn’t answer. He tries not to talk to Friedkin anymore, and any questions like that only promise agony.

“Dude, come on, you gotta answer the question, you’ve got something to lose now, remember?”

Dirk takes a deep breath. “What brilliant idea did you have?”

“Thanks for asking. I got thinking about what the fuck Brotzman could be useful for.”

Oh god. _Useful_. That doesn’t promise anything good.

“Cause like, we’re just keeping him here, right? And he just keeps pacing his cell, and god, even when he’s screaming about his body freezing into ice he’s boring, so I was trying to figure something out. And then I had a _great_ idea.”

Dirk keeps going on the elliptical and waits.

“Your guy’s pretty much just a Energizer Bunny at this point, an overcharged battery, so I started wondering what you could do with an overcharged battery.”

Dirk’s entire body gets tight. Because he knows, suddenly. He has a very good idea of what one could do with an overcharged battery.

“And then I started thinking about Brotzman’s sister, and how she was hanging around with Incubus, and it was a lightbump moment.”

“Bulb,” Dirk rasps, wanting to let go of the elliptical and fall into a void forever.

“Whatever. Point is, I dragged him into the room where we’re holding Incubus and told them to go to town on him. And _man_ , did they ever. He was crying, yelling a little bit, curled up in a ball on the floor. Well, you’d know, right?”

Dirk does. He remembers the first time the Rowdy Three fed on him. He remembers what that was like.

“He said your name a couple times, too, in the crying. Hard to hear, but I got it.”

Todd hates Dirk so much that he’s trying to say how much. Dirk doesn’t know what he is right now.

“I’m thinking we’ll do it frequently, probably good for them, y’know? Incubus, not Brotzman, the way he was looking, man, you could tell it was not good for him. Hey, you think he’s gonna have any long term effects from this? Cause we don’t know a whole lot about what they do, and it’s gonna be way easier to tell on him than you.”

Dirk says nothing, trying to keep his face blank while letting his swirl of emotions claw at his insides.

 

“Let me do it,” Dirk rasps on week seventeen, day three. Friedkin pauses in the middle of his latest story about Todd suffering at the hands of the pararibulitis or at the hands of the Rowdy Three. He talks about it a few times a week. It’s more torturous than anything else they could have dreamed up. Friedkin knows this, of course, which is why it keeps happening.

“What?”

“You said you needed a battery for the Rowdy Three. Someone for them to feed on. Let me do it. Swap Todd out with me. I can do it. They’re used to me anyway.”

Friedkin snorts. “Are you kidding me? Look at you. Your energy’s probably useless. Brotzman’s got the pararibulitis going for him, probably feeds them a lot more effectively.”

“You won’t know till you try. Just take one shot.” Take one feeding away from Todd. Even just one would be something.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Completely. See what feeding on me does to our powers. See if our powers interact. It’s a good test.”

“Probably.” Friedkin grins wide. “But then I quit torturing Brotzman, which means I quit torturing you. And why on _earth_ would I want to do that?”

Dirk wants the ground to swallow him up and never release him.

 

At week nineteen, day four, Friedkin gleefully tells him how knocked down Todd was by the latest Rowdy Three feeding.

“Dude, he couldn’t walk, he couldn’t even get up, one of my guys had to haul him over his shoulder, it was _great_. Your dude is fucking _tiny_ , he didn’t even stand a chance.”

It’s one of the few times Dirk’s tempted to throw a punch at Friedkin, who just keeps going.

“You got a shitty soulmate, man, I almost feel sorry for you, this one’s clearly defective. I mean, I guess you both are, but dude, this guy. Defective as hell.”

“You’re wrong,” Dirk says quietly. Friedkin looks startled. Dirk can’t blame him. Dirk only speaks when prompted by a scientist asking him to guess what’s on the back of a card these days. In truth, this is probably not a good idea, but Dirk can’t do this. He can’t sit by and let Friedkin say this.

“What?”

“So much of what he’s done has been to look out for me. He’s good at heart, even if he doesn’t always have the easiest time finding his way to it.” Dirk looks up at Friedkin, feeling so weary that even lifting his head the slight distance feels nearly like a trial. “You’re wrong. He’s not defective. He’s wonderful. And I still love him.”

Friedkin stares, speechless. He seems too stunned to even tell Doctor Partridge to turn up the voltage, which is better than Dirk could have expected.

 

As it turns out, Dirk _doesn’t_ get away with talking back without any repercussions, because they put him in a straitjacket. It’s a tactic they’ve only used once or twice before with him, but it’s an effective punishment. The straitjacket has a very big stamp of the Icarus symbol designation on it, like he’s going to forget who he is. They claim it’s an experiment, but he knows it can’t be, because what are they trying to find out? That it’ll improve his test results? Like they’ll learn anything other than that people don’t like straitjackets?

The physical restraint, Dirk knows, is not the point. He might have better muscles from the exercise equipment, but his body has deteriorated enough that he couldn’t put up any kind of a fight against them. The physical restraint is not the point. The point is the message. The point is that he’s not even on a leash, he’s just tied to a great old tree he can’t ever free himself from. It’s why the Icarus symbol is there.

The point is the message.

It’s a point well taken.

 

On day six of week twenty, alarms start wailing and Dirk stares at the ceiling in surprise from where he’s sitting on the ground next to the cot in his room. He’s still in the straitjacket. They don’t even let him out of it in his cell.

It’s an odd occurrence. Dirk’s never heard sirens go off before. There are alarms flashing too, white-ish light blinking every few minutes. Something big’s happening.

His door is shoved open, and Friedkin’s standing there.

“Up,” he says. Dirk stands and he grabs him by his bound arm, hauls him out of the room. They’re marching through corridors with the sirens still going and the lights still bouncing off the walls. They wouldn’t set those off for a project execution, he thinks, but he’s pretty sure this is how he dies, that this is where they kill him. He can’t make himself beg for his life, the words won’t come, he can’t beg for either of them. 

_I couldn’t save Todd_ , he thinks suddenly. As soon as Dirk dies, Todd is basically useless to them, pushing him in the path of the Rowdy Three or not. Disposable. It’s not just him that’s about to be killed. He wants to make some kind of effort for Todd’s sake, but he can’t. He can’t run and he can’t fight. They’ve got his arms pinned down in this fucking straitjacket, and even if he didn’t, it wouldn’t matter, he didn’t stand a chance when Friedkin cornered him in the diner and if he didn’t then, he especially doesn’t now.

Dirk becomes aware, suddenly, that Friedkin’s holding a knife in the hand not marching Dirk through corridors. Is he going to be stabbed to death? Why is Friedkin taking him to somewhere else to get stabbed?

Dirk hears a single pair of footsteps echoing off the halls. It sounds like the person is running like the wind. Friedkin must hear it too, because he abruptly draws up short, yanking Dirk up against him and pressing the knife to his throat. He doesn’t know why. The footsteps turn the corner and the person belonging to them draws up short at the sight of them.

Todd’s a lot skinnier than when Dirk had seen him. There are bags under his eyes. He’s not in a Blackwing jumpsuit, instead wearing a long sleeved baggy gray sweater and gray sweatpants, and it only makes him look more drained. He looks like half a person. Dirk aches for him. Wants to fix everything. Wants to tell him that even as aggressively diminished he looks, he’s still the most wonderful thing Dirk’s ever seen.

Todd’s staring at the knife. Dirk’s staring at Todd’s face, trying to drink him in. Todd looks like he wants to come forwards to him. Can’t be true. Can’t be possible.

“Take one more fucking step,” Friedkin says. “See what happens.” The knife is pressed tight to his throat. It’s sharp.

“I’m not moving.” It’s Todd’s voice. It’s hoarse, but it’s his voice. Dirk wants him to never stop talking. “I’m staying right here.”

“See this, Icarus?” Friedkin asks. “Your defective soulmate tried to find his way out.”

Dirk says nothing, too frightened of speaking against the blade, but he’s upset, unable to defend Todd, which will make Todd think he doesn’t want to defend him, which will make him hate Dirk more. Doesn’t he have enough reasons?

“Why is he in the straitjacket?” Todd asks in a low voice.

“He shouldn’t have gotten mouthy defending you,” Friedkin answers. “He regrets doing it, though.”

“I don’t,” Dirk mouths, hoping it’s better than actually speaking it when it comes to the knife, but the sound manages to come out as words barely squeaked, hardly breathed. Which is fine. If Dirk dies, he wants Todd to know he didn’t die regretting anything he’d said in Todd’s defense.

Friedkin groans. “God, can you just shut the fuck up, you ruin _everything._ ”

Todd’s eyes are furious. Dirk doesn’t know why, doesn’t know why he isn’t running in the opposite direction to save himself once he saw it was only Friedkin and Dirk blocking the hall, why he isn’t just pushing by them. He can only theorize, that maybe it’s because he’s generally a nice person and he’s mad at the principles of all this, that the sight of Friedkin has so paralyzed him with rage that he can’t move. He doesn’t know anything. He just knows that Todd looks enraged, and Dirk can’t help but wish that he was so angry on his behalf, that he was there for Dirk. Silly wish. Stupid wish. Stupid Dirk. And yet, he’d like to hold Todd’s hand, he thinks. That would make him feel better. Again, stupid Dirk, always wanting to hold Todd’s hand (for this is not the first time this wish has cropped up) even when he can’t. When he can’t even move his fucking arms.

Maybe Todd’s mad because of him. Can he really be that angry at Dirk? He can, of course. It’s Dirk’s fault that he got shot. He might as well have pulled the trigger. There’s no amount he can’t be mad at Dirk for this. He wonders, suddenly, what the scar looks like. It’s probably ugly. Unpleasant. Dirk’s fault.

Dirk’s having trouble breathing. Maybe if he passes out it’ll be an adequate distraction for Todd to run? He keeps being half hyperventilating around Todd these days. He thinks, suddenly, hysterically, that Todd makes him breathless in so many ways, and almost starts giggling. It’s probably for the best that he doesn’t. When something happens that Friedkin doesn’t like or understand, he gets trigger happy, and Dirk is fairly certain he wouldn’t be the one who gets shot.

And Todd’s right there. He’s _right there_. Todd wouldn’t want him to be over there with him, would probably push him back, but he wants desperately to be standing next to him, by his side, facing off against Friedkin together. The only thing he wants more than the reassuring promise of Todd’s parallel presence is for Todd to run. And he can’t even tell Todd any of these things because of the knife. Can’t tell him to save himself because out of the two of them, he’s the one worth saving. Not the one who kept lying. Not the one who got his soulmate shot.

Todd, he realizes, is going to have the name of the one who almost got him killed on his back for the rest of his life. Fuck, probably the one who _did_ get him killed, considering how they’re both indefinitely incarcerated in here. Dirk wishes he could change that.

The universe doesn’t want his soulmate to be okay.

Another thing that Todd can hate him for.

Dirk can’t think of any more reasons he wouldn’t.

Todd’s joined to someone who only ever gets him hurt.

He should have told Todd for lots of reasons. But if Todd had known who he was before this whole Blackwing mess, maybe he could have bolted of his own free will. The CIA would never consider him useful to have. They'd never have gone for him. They'd never have found out. They took Dirk’s Name from him, they wouldn’t have been able to track him down, they’d never have dragged him here. And now Todd's not leaving for whatever reason, now Dirk can’t speak through the constriction in his heart.

And _god_ , he so selfishly wants to shout out to Todd to save him. To punch Friedkin in the nose. To hold Todd’s hand. To hug him. Dirk is grasped by a sudden, desperate desire to kiss him. Todd’s lips would be warm, he thinks. He’s always so cold here.

“Can he breathe?” Todd’s question is infused with anger.

“Fuck, I hope so.” Friedkin sounds suddenly concerned. “If he hyperventilates himself to death, Wilson’s _so_ gonna reprimand me.”

Todd shakes his head a little, like he’s trying to carefully dislodge something from his hair. “You can’t keep doing this,” he says. “You can’t keep hurting him like this. I’ve _seen_ it.”

What?

“What?” Friedkin asks.

Todd points a shaking finger at Friedkin. “I _know_ what you’re doing to him, you fuck. I’ve _seen_ it. I keep seeing it, every _goddamn_ time you drag me into the Rowdy Three’s holding cell.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Do you know what the Rowdy Three do to me?” Todd’s seething. “Do you pay any _goddamn_ attention? Or are you pretending to care about results so you can watch me suffer? I see you hurting him _every single time_ you drag me in there, and you don’t even _notice?_ ”

Dirk’s chest prickles. He remembers Amanda coming to visit him in his hospital room, telling him about the things she’d seen because of the Rowdy Three feeding on her that first time. Dirk had never had such visions, but he’d suspected that the pararibulitis changed the game when it came to her. Now that Todd has it, it would make sense that he would see things too. Is he really seeing the things that are going on? Some of the ways Dirk has been dragged into testing in this godawful place?

“I have _seen_ what you have done to him. He _trained_ himself not to _scream_. He _taught himself_ not to shriek when you _tortured_ him. You can’t keep fucking _doing_ it. No more.”

Dirk doesn’t understand. Todd is railing against Friedkin for him, loud and determined, for a man he hates. Dirk is desperate to touch him. He hates himself for the desire.

“Yeah? And what the fuck are you gonna do about it? What was the endgame here?”

“Get Dirk,” Todd answers simply. “Get out. Go home. Take him so far away from you that you could never fucking touch him again.”

The world is spinning. Every conviction he’s had about Todd for weeks is in sudden, not entirely unpleasant turmoil, even considering how confusing it is.

“I got you _shot_ ,” he blurts out. He can’t help it, even with the knife. Fortunately Friedkin had been busy laughing in Todd’s face, so the knife had been slightly loosened while he was distracted, but it goes right back where it was after Dirk speaks. He shoves it back quick enough that it makes a shallow cut, nowhere near enough for him to bleed out but enough for him to bleed. He hisses at the pain.

“No,” Todd says, staring at the knife, probably the blood, too. “You didn’t. They did. They shot me. I don’t hate you. You didn’t get me shot. And I would have come here looking for you anyway.”

Dirk’s shaking a little and it’s not all the stinging of the cut on his throat. His entire universe is turned on his head, everything so radically changed, and not necessarily for worse.

“Besides.” Todd gives him a shaky smile. It’s amazing. “I have a cool scar now. We can compare them, when we get out.”

Friedkin laughs. “When?”

“Yeah.” Todd’s looking in Dirk’s eyes now. “When. I promise.”

Dirk is dizzy. Dirk is, for the first time since being brought in, warm.

“Aw, man, you’re getting blood on your straitjacket.” Friedkin sounds annoyed. “We only have one of those with your tag on them, they’re such a bitch to wash.”

Even in this insane, dire situation, Dirk is distinctly upset that Todd now knows what his project symbol looks like for a reason he can’t really perceive.

“Anyway, how the fuck are you supposed to get out? This is where you live now. This is where you die. You won’t even get graves. This is your life now.”

“It’s only temporary.” Todd won’t move his eyes from Dirk’s. Dirk can’t look away. “We’re going to get out someday.”

He looks to Friedkin. His entire demeanor changes.

“There’s never going to be enough justice done for what you did to Dirk,” Todd tells Friedkin, tone poisoned with hatred. “But when we break out, I assure you, you will get something close to it, because there’s right and wrong, and you have fucking _failed_ one of them.”

It’s like Todd’s grown three sizes. He fills the room, blazing and righteous. As far as Dirk’s concerned, all Todd would need to be an avenging angel is the wings and the sword. _Dirk’s_ avenging angel. Dirk is baffled. Dirk is awed.

The sound of boots approaching arrives and Dirk’s eyes widen. He wants to tell Todd to push through him and Friedkin. Keep going. Run. Never look back, no matter how much the selfish part of him is holding Todd close, with his wildly angry face and the way he spits out justice and morality and good and bad, with his self deprecating humor, with his trembling smiles, with everything Dirk’s ever wanted, the tiny fingers of that part clinging to him like it’ll never let him go.

Todd doesn’t run. He doesn’t move at all. He just keeps staring into Dirk’s eyes.

“It’ll be okay,” he says, voice obviously only calm on the surface. “I promise, Dirk. We’re gonna be okay. I swear it.”

“I believe you,” he whispers, the collar on his straitjacket wet, the knife moving against his throat, everything he could have had to believe in ripped away from him except for this, except for Todd, except for promises he is almost certain will never come to fruition, but something he will believe in, something to cling to and hold close. “I promise.”

Todd gives another smile and Dirk knows it’s fake but it doesn’t matter because he’s _trying_. “We’ll be fine. We’ll make it out. We’re going to be okay.”

The reinforcements round the corner. They grab Todd, handcuff him, force him to his knees, taze him until he passes out (Dirk letting out a whimper when they do), haul him off. Until he’s knocked out, Todd maintains steady eye contact.

Friedkin moves the knife from Dirk’s throat and he collapses like his strings have been cut. He can’t grab at the floor like he wants to in this straitjacket, but he can press his forehead to the cold floor. Cold floor, cold rooms, cold food. Dirk can’t even remember what warm is anymore.

“Why did you do that to him?” he whispers. “He was restrained, what are you doing, he deserves better than that. How could you. How dare you. You can’t touch him. He deserves so much better. Why?”

The guards haul him back up to his feet. He sees drops of his blood and tears on the normally pristine floors. He feels an odd, savage satisfaction at that.

“Take him to medical,” Friedkin says. “Wilson’s gonna be pissed enough that I damaged him, make sure he gets all fixed up.”

Dirk is half dragged, dazed, bloody, desperate confusion tangled with dread nausea and wild delight.

 

They bandage Dirk’s throat carefully so as not to damage him further, and send him back to his cell. They take his straitjacket because of the blood. It would soak in and Wilson runs a tidy ship. He lies on the cot, staring at the ceiling into nothing. He runs his fingers lightly over the bandage.

Todd doesn’t hate him.

Todd came to save him. 

Todd wants to get both of them out.

Slowly, he feels a very small smile spread over his face, the first time he’s smiled in too many weeks to count.

 

The new mission, Dirk thinks, is not to ensure that Todd doesn’t get in trouble, but that he can buy them a substantial amount of time.

Because Dirk believes him, that they’ll get out. He has to. He has to grasp at it. He has nothing left. Which means Dirk has to ensure that he isn’t disposed of because he’s failing even more than before, because he doesn’t know what Todd’s planning, but he’s sure he needs a little while longer to do so, now that his breakout attempt remained just that, an attempt.

So Dirk starts focusing even more on the tests. Answers every single question, eliminates “I don’t know” from his vocabulary. When he doesn’t know an answer, he guesses. When he can’t tell something they ask him, he lies. He stops just plodding along on the exercise equipment and starts working so hard he aches all the more for it.

He doesn’t know if it’s his intuitions or dumb luck, but he hits on more right answers than wrong ones. He gets shocked less. He thinks he might be a truly valuable subject. The burning determination is working.

 

“You still have a three on your wall,” Dirk observes. He knows it’s there, even if he’s not looking at it from where his head is lying on Todd’s chest. He feels Todd shift slightly in the bed, no doubt to look at the thing.

“Oh hey,” he says mildly. “How about that.”

Dirk can’t hear Todd’s heartbeat. He’s sure it’s there. “We should clean it up.”

“Probably.” Todd’s fingertips are resting on Dirk’s back. “Might take us a while. There’s a lot of mess in here.”

“Mmm.” Dirk blinks at the wall of the Patrick Spring basement, the smell of electricity in the air. “We’ll get it as neat as possible eventually, though.” He sits up a little against Todd, looking up at him. Todd smiles.

“You look nice in my shirt,” he tells Dirk. Dirk glances down at the Mexican Funeral shirt.

“Thank you.” He looks back up at Todd’s face. It’s the way it was outside the hospital when he gave it to him, not quite so pale, not quite so thin.

“You’re welcome.”

“I miss you, you know.” Dirk’s hand is flat against Todd’s chest. Still no life below it. “Every minute of every day.”

“I’m right here.”

“No. You’re not.” Todd’s face is lit dimly by the Everbulb in the death maze, somehow alight despite the fact Dirk is still only touching Todd. “You’re somewhere else in here, where I don’t get to see you.”

Todd tilts his head. “How could you tell?”

“Your words come far too easy. And there’s nothing here.” He taps in between Todd’s eyebrows, just above his nose. Todd doesn’t even flinch. “Behind your eyes.”

“Then why do you stay here?”

“Where else am I going to go?” He can hear birds from where they’re twittering, early in the morning out by the hundreds of holes they dug looking for Patrick Spring’s machine.

“That’s fair, I guess.”

“Besides.” Dirk moves his finger to rest his palm against Todd’s cheek, knowing he’ll only be able to get the next sentence out before he is ripped back to consciousness by the droning sound of the voice informing him how long he’s been inside Blackwing. “I miss looking at your face, even when it’s not yours.”

 

Dirk becomes a master of thinking about other things while answering the cards and the electrode questions on automatic. Thinks during the blood drawing and the activity tests. He likes the idea of this, that he and Todd get out, that they could do it, that they’d be together. Can’t think of how. Doesn’t know. Just thinks again about holding Todd’s hand, and how now with the knowledge he has, how he thinks Todd could hold it back. How this can’t be what the universe had planned for them. Maybe for either of them. He could be a lost cause, but surely Todd deserves better than this.

Dirk wants to go traveling, he thinks, while they’re asking him questions with the electrodes glued to his head. Him and Todd. They could go abroad. Visit landmarks. He could show him around London, the places that had meant something to him. He’s never been to Paris, but he’s read that it’s the city of love, and maybe that’s not necessarily something Todd feels, but it is for Dirk, and they could find it nice. It’s pretty. He’s seen postcards. They could go to Rome and see the ruins. Dirk likes ancient things, likes the idea of things that can weather what has been thrown at them.

They could travel around the country together, he muses while pushing himself on a rowing machine. They can get another Corvette. Todd had seemed disappointed enough that he’d traded the last one for the Jeep, so he’d probably like it. He could pick the color. Dirk has a hunch that Todd might insist on driving. He wouldn’t mind not driving if he wasn’t alone in the car like always, if that person who’s ensuring he’s not on his own is Todd. Dirk’s never seen the Grand Canyon. He’s never seen Yellowstone. He’s never seen any of the monuments in Washington D.C. There’s so much he hasn’t seen, so much he wants to discover, want to share all of it with Todd.

Dirk wonders while they’re flashing cards on him and asking him to guess the drawings concealed what Todd’s music taste is exactly, how to feel it out. Dirk’s music knowledge is a little random, not complete and unexpected in the patchy places. Could they agree on a radio station for the car? They could maybe have to switch back and forth, a little bargaining involved. Maybe Dirk could make him a mixtape. Would Todd appreciate a mixtape? Do people still do that? Doesn’t matter. He’ll make him one away. He deserves one.

Todd likes punk stuff, from what he can tell. Seems like Dropkick Murphys would be up his alley. Maybe some Elvis? Dirk’s not huge into Elvis, but “Can’t Help Falling In Love” is wondrous, and he definitely understands the sentiment. Certainly Beyoncé, even if Todd doesn’t like her (which is blasphemy) they’ll be playing her, even if she doesn’t make her way onto the mixtape. Or mix playlist. Whichever’s more convenient. Maybe a tape, too. In case the car has a cassette player and the iPod glitches out. Would Todd like Taylor Swift? Dirk has an intuition that he’s a closet _1984_ fan. It’s a universe related intuition, which means it’s likely to be true.

Dirk thinks it over, absently running his fingers over the cut on his neck, no longer bandaged, already starting to scar.

 

At thirty-three weeks, two days, Dirk is restrained in the chair while Doctor Anderson readies the needle. The blood drawing is something that he allows himself to wilt for, be as flat and exhausted and miserable as he is. He lolls in the seat, eyes barely open, limp.

Suddenly, the sirens start going off, those whitish lights flashing. Dirk can’t bring himself to be concerned. Maybe Marzanna made a break for it. He wishes her luck. Doctor Anderson, however, frowns.

“Stay here,” she tells Dirk, and if he had the energy for it, if he wasn’t drained from lack of food and limbs aching and hurting so much that he’s never not in pain, has to stagger to each room barely able to stay upright, he would point out that he is restrained, and not going anywhere. She leaves the room. Dirk closes his eyes, head faced away from the door.

After a minute or two where Dirk is about to start dozing off, the door opens again. What sounds like a small group of people enters the room. Doctor Anderson has evidently brought more scientists to poke at him. Or maybe a group of guards to drag him back to his room. Delightful. He doesn’t bother to open his eyes or turn his head. He’s too tired, in every sense of the word.

A set of footsteps get closer. A hand is put on his cheek. It’s so much gentler than he expected, doesn’t push his head around to see if he’s up to snuff like they’re inspecting a horse they want to buy, but he’s sure it’ll change. He still keeps his eyes closed. Doesn’t want to look at whichever sadistic bastard this is.

“It scarred,” a raspy, familiar voice observes.

Dirk’s eyes flash open, flick up slightly.

Todd looks as terrible as he had the last time Dirk had seen him, looks a little sad. He’s beautiful.

“If you’d been in to see the Rowdy Three,” Dirk answers just as hoarsely. “You would have seen that it did, wouldn’t you?”

“It’s different seeing it up close.” Todd hasn’t moved his hand from his cheek. Dirk leans into it. “Different seeing you up close.”

“Good different?” Dirk asks tentatively, still a little unsure, still a little worried.

Todd smiles faintly. “More than.”

Dirk’s heart swells. He smiles back.

“Didn’t believe me when I said we’d get out, did you?”

“Of course I did. I always believe you.”

Todd goes a little red. It’s the first time Dirk’s seen color in his otherwise near waxy skin since he’d first been brought in. It reassures him. He takes the hand off Dirk’s cheek and Dirk almost panics, thinks he said the wrong thing, but Todd only does so to start loosening the restraints.

“Jesus,” he mutters, working on the right one and struggling a little. “It’s like getting into Fort Knox.”

“They’re always tight.” Dirk can’t stop looking at Todd’s face. “What do they think I could possibly do anyway?”

Todd smiles again. “Maybe you could poke them really hard.” He gets Dirk’s right wrist free and Dirk immediately grabs his neck, pulls him in so Todd’s forehead is resting against his, closing his eyes.

“I’m sorry I got you shot,” he whispers. “And I’m sorry I got you locked in here. And I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about the thing.”

Todd’s right hand moves to cover Dirk’s. The left goes to the side of Dirk’s neck.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. None of this is your fault.”

“I’m not so sure, but it’s kind of you to say.”

Todd angles his forehead slightly, still against Dirk’s, for just a moment before he raises it to work on the other wrist restraint. Dirk opens his eyes.

“Do you want me to help?”

“One man job.” Todd gets him free. “Do you have ones on your legs?”

“No.”

Dirk tries to get up and staggers, knees buckling a little. Todd catches him in a way, Dirk’s arm going around his shoulders, Todd’s arm sliding around his waist. Dirk gratefully leans on him, treasuring the feeling of the arm against his middle. He finally looks up and sees Farah and Amanda uncertainly hovering. Amanda rushes to him first, burying her face in his chest, putting an arm around the side that doesn’t have Todd pressed up against him. Dirk wraps that arm around her. Farah does the same next, Dirk repeating the motion.

“Hello, Farah. Hello, Amanda. Is this a rescue?”

Amanda has what Dirk just has to dub “that Brotzman fire” in her eyes. “You bet your ass it is.”

“Who do you need me to punch?” Farah asks. “Is it everyone? Tell me it’s everyone. Just say everyone.”

“I think I’d just like to get out of here, but you’re more than welcome to punch people you see on the way.”

“Excellent.”

“We should get going,” Todd says. The four of them move like they’re going to head for the door, Todd and Dirk slightly slower than the others, when it opens, and Doctor Anderson steps through it. She doesn’t look concerned, just annoyed.

“Do you all _really_ think you can stage a breakout?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

“I’m already raring to go when it comes to kicking your ass, lady, don’t push me,” Amanda answers.

Doctor Anderson rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to Dirk, which, in his experience, is never good.

“Get back in the chair, Icarus,” she says superciliously. “And I won’t mention to Friekdin you were ever out of it. I won’t even sedate you if you stay still.”

Dirk flinches and shrinks a little into Todd. Her tone is maybe that of someone who has caught their cat clawing at the furniture, her expression suggesting that he’s nothing more than a pet being annoying, and those things always signal trouble. Farah and Amanda are both armed. Doctor Anderson wouldn’t stand a chance. But it’s instinctive, the panic Dirk can feel rising in him.

“This is the reason we keep restraining you, you know. Do you _want_ the straitjacket back?”

Dirk starts trembling slightly.

“I’m serious, Icarus, if you don’t let go of Brotzman, we’re going to have to recommend to Friedkin that Brotzman gets shot again.”

There’s a little, thin voice in Dirk’s head telling him that Doctor Anderson is right. That if he does this, it will protect Todd, which he’s been desperately trying to do since he knew that Todd was alive. He’s clutching at Todd’s gray shirt now, but he twitches like he might go back to the chair. Todd’s arm tightens a little.

“Don’t call him that,” he tells Doctor Anderson.

She sneers. “Would you prefer I called him Svlad?”

Dirk sees Amanda’s eyes snap to them with a whispered “what?”. Of course. She would know. The name sends a frisson of pain through Dirk as always, especially because he and Todd haven’t had the opportunity to really talk about this, and now she’s dredging it up.

“His name’s Dirk.” Todd’s voice is steady. “If you’re going to call him anything, it should be the name he chose, and not the name you people tarnished so badly he had to call himself something else.”

“What he wants isn’t our priority.”

“Yes.” Todd is very warm. Dirk is remembering what warm is. His voice is cold and angry. All these things are grounding. “I’ve seen. Everybody here is aware that everyone on this staff is a complete fucking monster.”

“Did you know the person who took my Name?” Dirk asks suddenly, not sure where the question comes from.

Doctor Anderson blinks, looking startled.

“I never read the file,” she answers. “Taking your Name never crossed our minds very much, so long as it was gone. It was signed off by the previous Director.”

Dirk swallows. “Was it his idea?”

Doctor Anderson suddenly looks a little more nervous about her chances. “Yes.”

Dirk flinches again. It makes sense, but it still hurts. Todd’s gone stiff and still next to him.

“It didn’t _matter?_ ” His tone is infuriated and incredulous. “You took away his Name and the details of it, the fact that it happened, didn’t _matter?_ ”

“It was a strategic decision. It had nothing to do with any of us.”

“Strategic?” Todd’s now shaking a little too. “You let my fucking soulmate think he was alone almost all his life for the sake of _strategy?_ Nothing to _do_ with you? It has _everything_ to do with you, even if you weren’t here when it happened.”

And even in the pain and fear of this moment, there’s something to that. Something to Todd saying “my soulmate”, of Dirk being his. It doesn’t take away how Dirk’s worrying now, how he can’t stop picturing them taking Todd away again, Todd who is somehow in better muscular shape but wildly skinny, who has been shot in Dirk’s name, who Dirk cannot begin to dream of losing.

But Todd is glaring daggers at Doctor Anderson. The fury in his face is comparable to when he was facing off against Friedkin in that hallway. And it’s better than that. Because Farah and Amanda are here. He’s not in a straitjacket he’s bleeding all over. He’s still terrified. But he remembers when just knowing that Todd wanted to hold onto him and help him and get them out was just good information to have. Now that he’s actually doing it? Dirk doesn’t feel taller or braver or greater or anything, but he does feel better. He doesn’t feel like he could take Doctor Anderson down, or Friedkin, or Wilson, or really anybody, he’s too tired and too beat down and too cold and too used to being hungry all the time, but he certainly feels like he could stand against them, and together he thinks he and Todd might make up 75% of a functional human being, and those things are all miracles.

“Listen,” Doctor Anderson says uncertainly. “We weren’t here for this, you’re wrong, that isn’t on us.”

She takes a step back towards the door and that is suddenly unacceptable to Dirk.

“Farah?” he asks.

“Yeah?”

“You remember when you asked who you were allowed to punch?”

Farah hands her gun to Amanda, strides forwards and slams her fist into Doctor Anderson, hard enough that she hits the opposite wall and passes out.

“You know, you could’ve just shot her,” Amanda observes.

“There’s nothing satisfying about that.” Farah takes her gun back from Amanda. “Come on. We need to move.”

They head out the door, Dirk’s arm still around Todd’s shoulder, still clutching his shirt, Todd’s arm still round his waist.

 

“What’s the plan?” Todd asks as they move. Dirk’s going as fast as he possibly can, but it’s still not as fast as it probably should be to make escape easier. No one seems to mind.

“Well, once we got the location from Riggins, it just-“

Something cold and shaky washes over Dirk.

“ _Riggins?_ ” Todd snaps.

“Yeah,” Amanda says. “And I have to tell you, I’m hating that we’re working with him even more in light of recent events.”

“What does he want?”

“He said he just wanted to make things right, we couldn’t find any ulterior motives in his information, Farah and Ken were thorough, it all checked out-“

“He wants my forgiveness.” Dirk understands Riggins a great deal better now, he thinks, in retrospect, knowing this last great big secret revealed to him. Maybe there’ll be other, smaller ones, but nothing ever like this. Now he knows. “He always wants something, and that’s what he’s looking for.” Dirk doesn’t find himself particularly inclined to give it.

They turn a corner and suddenly Marzanna, Ken, and Vogel are there, Marzanna holding a gun in one hand and Ken’s hand in the other, Vogel clutching a crowbar.

“Hey, Icarus.” Marzanna raises her eyebrows as she looks him up and down. “You look like shit.”

“Hello, Marzanna. You can talk.” She looks just as exhausted and worn down as he knows he must.

She grins. “Knew I liked you.”

“You tried to kill me.”

“Yeah, but, y’know, after that.”

“Hey, Todd.” Ken looks guilty. Dirk doesn’t know why.

“Not your fault, Ken,” Todd tells him.

“I-“

“They’re the CIA and they wanted me specifically. They would have taken me no matter whether you stayed behind for me or not. You got Farah and Amanda out of there so the three of you wouldn’t be collateral. It was the right move. Not your fault.”

Ken relaxes a little. “You don’t look great, either.”

“You’re all very critical.”

“Hey, Icarus,” Vogel says, a little hesitantly. Dirk’s not entirely sure why about that either, Vogel’s never leant himself to uncertainty, but he’s too tired to figure it out.

“Hello, Vogel.” Vogel’s not the Rowdy Dirk’s angry with, and he doesn’t seem to want to feed off him, so really, he sees no reason not to be civil.

“Farah, back to the point, what’s the plan?”

“It was pretty much just to cause chaos, once we meet up with the others, we’ve got a van waiting, we’ll be able to bolt and we have safehouses.”

“What others are ther-“

They turn another corner and everyone grinds to a halt as one, Farah and Amanda raising their guns. Marzanna comes to a stop too, but doesn’t raise her gun. Dirk’s not sure if it’s because she’s not supposed to, or if it’s because if she has to hit them, she doesn’t need to.

Friedkin and Wilson are standing before them in the middle of the corridor. They’re only two people and they could probably take them down easily: Friedkin’s gun is in his holster, he’s only holding a stun baton out towards them, Wilson doesn’t even appear to be armed. But somehow, they seem to loom large enough to block the entire hallway. Friedkin looks rattled and a little ruffled, as well as angry. Wilson, predictably, does not, instead looking fairly steady. Dirk stares at the crackling baton, purple electricity playing around the end of it. The hum underneath the crackling is the same as the kind that came from the equipment they attached the electrodes to, the kind that would elevate in volume slightly before a shock came. Dirk holds Todd’s shirt a little tighter.

“Where do you think you’re going, Icarus?” Wilson asks calmly.

“The last person to talk to me like that got punched out by Farah.” Dirk’s impressed with how even his voice is, even if worn out. “And she’s pretty amazing, so you probably shouldn’t do that.”

Wilson looks unimpressed. Anytime anyone is not impressed by Farah, in Dirk’s opinion, it is their loss.

“What the fuck did you do to my base?” Friedkin snaps.

“I didn’t do anything. I certainly hope the others have been working hard at destroying it, however.”

“Pleasure and a privilege,” Vogel says, lifting his crowbar.

“You can’t just fucking _leave_.”

Dirk raises his eyebrows.

“Thirty-three weeks, two days. Roughly seven months. You’ve kept the two of us here for roughly seven months. You’ve tortured me, you’ve _shot_ Todd. We _can_ just fucking leave, and we’re _going to_ just fucking leave.”

Friedkin’s face contorts into proper fury. Then his teeth bare in a grin. Todd tenses next to him.

“You sure you want to leave with the guy who doesn’t even have your fucking Name on his back anymore, Icarus?” he snarls out.

Dirk’s world grinds to a halt. He looks down at Todd, whose lips thin out.

“You didn’t think we just abandoned that technology, did you?” Friedkin says. Dirk’s still not looking at him.

“When?” he asks.

“While I was in and out after he shot me. Took a while to put it together, I was pretty drugged up, but the best I can piece together, it was. Um. The day when I woke up and I thought I’d heard some muffled yelling and there were these marks on my hand.”

_Muffled yelling and marks on his hand._

“You got it right.” Friedkin is clearly relishing this. “We brought him in about an hour after we did it.”

Of course. Seems like Friedkin’s particular brand of cruel.

Todd still came for him when he tried to break out the first time. Todd still came for him this time around. This will mean something to him, he thinks, when he is not gripped by the bone crushing horror at what Friedkin’s done to him, the guilt that _because of him, his soulmate has had his Name ripped away from him._

“Todd,” he whispers.

Todd looks at him out of the corner of his eye. His face is quietly despondent and that’s what gives Dirk the ability to look back at Friedkin.

“Yes,” he says. “I am sure. I am very, _very_ sure.”

Friedkin’s grin turns into a scowl.

“Okay, you know what,” he snarls as Dirk begins to smell, dimly, smoke. Todd sniffs next to him. “Enough fucking around.”

Friedkin starts charging towards them with the stun baton still snapping with electricity as the smell gets a little stronger when suddenly, the sprinklers go off, rain falling on them. The stun baton sparks and Friedkin shakes for maybe twenty seconds before he drops to the ground, hair blackened and on end, smoking slightly. Everyone stares down at him.

Wilson lets out a heavy, annoyed sigh.

“Damn,” she says, voice a little raised over the sound of the sprinklers. “He was useful.”

She looks back to the rest of them.

“I hope you know that I can’t let you leave,” she tells them.

“There’s a whole lot more of us than there is of you,” Ken points out.

“Yeah.” Amanda looks ready to strangle her. “And we’re _way_ more pissed off than you are.”

Wilson still looks unconcerned. “Yes, but there’s a whole lot more of the guards than there are of you, and they have money as an incentive.”

Farah bites something back, but Dirk’s not really hearing anything anymore, because he’s looking over Todd’s head a little, right at Marzanna, who notices him looking and turns her head.

Dirk hasn’t seen Marzanna in here. Hasn’t really seen her since he was bleeding in Patrick Spring’s basement, honestly. But she’s a subject. A project. And while Todd and Dirk will always have the shared experience of being stuck in here with the dead asshole on the floor tormenting them every day, there’s a difference between that experience and the same experience but as had by the other person being a project, too. Dirk and Marzanna may not have seen each other, but they know each other on some level due to that. They look at each other, and an understanding passes between them, of what has to be done and that they want it to be done, that perhaps she’s not supposed to be the one to do it, but she deserves a crack at it.

Dirk turns back to Wilson right as Bart raises her gun and shoots her in the chest, right over her heart, presuming she has one. Wilson falls, still looking startled as she does. Everyone jumps but her and Dirk.

“Did you know you were supposed to kill her?” Ken asks.

“Nope.” Bart lowers her gun again. “Looks like I was right, though.”

“Todd,” Dirk says again, looking back down at him. “Todd, I’m so _sorry._ ” His voice cracks on the last word. Todd takes the hand that’s not resting on Dirk’s waist right now and puts it on the side of his face. Dirk can see around him, in a muddled sort of way, everyone else awkwardly looking away.

“Don’t be,” he tells Dirk, and he still looks tired and dejected and just _broken_ and he’s _still_ comforting him. “It’s not your fault.”

Dirk wants to tell him that it _is_ , that they never would have done this without wanting another way to hurt him.

Todd looks like he knows what he’s thinking. “We have to go, Dirk. We have to get out, we can’t lose our shot. Okay? Please?”

Dirk swallows. Nods. Lets Todd move them around Friedkin and Wilson’s bodies and further down the corridor.

 

It’s about three minutes later when Vogel yells suddenly, grabs Amanda’s hand, and drags her around a corner. It seemed like a pretty joyful yell, so no one’s worried and they round it quickly as they have been in a quest to get out but not in a desperate “oh god what’s happening to them” way.

The Rowdy Three have their arms around Vogel and Amanda in a huddle, beaming. It sounds like both of them are talking at a mile a minute. They all seem to be vibrating slightly, even as Amanda and Vogel pull back.

Dirk feels a surge of sharp, hot anger. He’s upset and exhausted and now he’s confronted with the Rowdy Three _and they kept feeding on Todd._ He knows he couldn’t actually do anything, but he twitches towards them anyway, ready to detach himself from Todd and launch himself at them in an attempt to make them see how very, very wrong they were to do it.

Todd must sense this, because he suddenly draws Dirk in tighter. “Dirk, Dirk, stop, stop.”

Dirk does, but it has more to do with the fact that Todd’s pulled him closer, and he’s very warm, and very there, and very Todd, than anything else.

“It’s okay. The Rowdies and I, we’re all right with each other, we did what we had to do to make it through. We’re fine, we’re all right. It’s all okay.”

Dirk glares at them. They gaze solemnly back, no longer beaming.

“All right,” Dirk agrees reluctantly, hoping it’s perfectly clear that he _will_ try and fight them when Todd says the word. They all nod shortly in response, so Dirk thinks they get the message.

 

When they get outside the base, Dirk shrinks back towards the doorway a little, Todd doing the same. The air is fresh and non-filtered and delicious, but neither of them have seen the sun in seven months, and it’s so very bright.

“Are you guys okay?” Farah asks.

“Fine,” Dirk says, gently pushing at Todd a little until he starts moving, Dirk propelling him very slightly. He remembers what this part is like, at least, emerging from a place with very little sunlight (they’d had the occasional window in Blackwing the first time around) to the outside world is jarring. Knowing what this part is makes it easier to get Todd moving.

Farah, Amanda, Vogel, and Ken are all leading them towards a large white van. Vogel helps Dirk in first, who turns around to help Todd in. Dirk had found his feet a little while ago, but he hadn’t wanted to let go of Todd. He thinks Todd knew, but maybe hadn’t wanted to let go of him either.

When the doors close behind them, the van suddenly hurtling away from their prison, Todd and Dirk are huddled next to each other in the back corner near the doors, their sides pressed against each other. Everyone else is up front, chatting in low voices, giving them a wide berth. Even Amanda is the one driving the van, though Dirk can see her eyes flitting to the rearview mirror every few minutes to check on them. Nobody seems to want to intrude on whatever breakdown everyone seems to think they’re going to have. Dirk’s not sure they’re wrong.

“Todd,” he whispers, voice breaking. “Todd, I’m _so_ -“

“Don’t,” Todd interrupts. There’s no anger in his voice. “Stop saying that. Stop apologizing. You didn’t do this to me. They did. This isn’t your fault.”

“But-“

“ _This isn’t your fault._ None of it is. Me getting shot, us getting trapped here, the Name, none of this is you. None of this would _ever_ be you. You didn’t _do_ this.”

They’re still sitting next to each other but their bodies have angled enough that they’re facing each other, sprawled half against the floor and half against the wall of the van.

“Todd.” He can’t stop saying his name, weighing it on his tongue, trying to convey everything he’s feeling but doesn’t know how to say.

“It’s not your fault.” Todd looks like he’s trying to impart the secrets of the universe. “Dirk, I swear, it’s not your fault.”

Dirk rests his forehead against Todd’s, just needing to be near him, needing to know he’s here. It doesn’t seem to be enough for Todd, who grabs him and pulls him in tight, Dirk curling up into him, Todd clutching him to his body as close as he can get him. Dirk doesn’t object, wrapping an arm around him and try to huddle closer. His head rests against Todd’s shoulder, and Todd leans his own into Dirk’s. He’s so warm. Blackwing had been so cold, and then there is the beacon of light holding onto him, the fire inside burning Dirk in the best possible way.

“Not your fault,” Todd murmurs. “Never your fault.”

“I’m sorry about your Name,” Dirk whispers.

Todd angles his head against Dirk’s a little better.

“I’ll get over it,” he says.

 

They spend a little while like that, Dirk just breathing him in, one of Todd’s hands having started to stroke his hair at some point. The hand had been trembling significantly when he started, but the longer he did it the steadier it became. It’s a good feeling. Dirk’s never had much positive physical contact, and it’s something he’d sort of forgotten he’d wanted, and now he abruptly realizes it’s something he badly does. Especially from Todd. With Todd, it’s not a want, it’s a need, and he pushes himself further into him, trying to make it so there’s no way possible that there’s any space between the two of them. Todd doesn’t seem to mind, just tightening his arm when Dirk gets closer.

“Where are we going?” Todd asks eventually, loud enough that Amanda and Farah can hear from the front seat.

“Some of us are splitting up.” Farah’s briskly professional tone is laced with gentility, the kindness in her voice in no way diminishing her focus and vice versa. “Ken said he and Bart would probably want to get on the road. Vogel said the same of Martin, Cross, and Gripps.”

The Rowdy Three cheer as a response as Bart says “if we got a car, we gotta roll, I’ve got people to kill.”

Ken grins at the statement, gazing at her fondly, and Dirk wonders, suddenly, if the two of them share Names. He doesn’t ask. It’s none of his business.

“So what about us?”

“We have two apartments, separate floors, in one building. Riggins is paying for them, says we can stay in them until he clears our name and then we can do whatever we want.”

“Yeah, okay, so I’m starting to have some pretty significant doubts about the fucking veracity of Riggins here.” Amanda sounds pretty angry. “How are we sure he’s not going to sell us out?”  
“He’s not,” Dirk mumbles. Todd leans in a little further to hear him better. “If he wants my forgiveness, he’s going to follow through.”

Todd looks back to them. “Dirk says Riggins is on the up and up.”

Dirk looks up at him. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

A small amused smile pops up on Todd’s face. Dirk feels a flood of surprised delight at the expression and buries his face in Todd’s shoulder so he doesn’t see.

“So you’ll be going out with the Rowdies?” Todd asks Amanda, although it sounds less like a question and more like a statement.

“I… no. I will be staying in the second apartment with Farah.”

“Really? I thought you’d want to get out of here with them as soon as possible.”

“Well, I was thinking, a bit, about it, and I was thinking I’d like to stay here to keep an eye on you. And Dirk. You and Dirk.”

“Oh.” Todd sounds startled.

“Yeah.” She clears her throat. “So we’re just gonna stay right in Seattle.”

Todd’s entire body stills. “In- wait, we were- the base was-“

“About two or three hours outside of Seattle.” Farah’s tone is clipped. “Yes.”

“We were right there the whole time.” Todd’s whisper sounds disbelieving. “Incredible. We were right there.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Dirk’s face is still hidden in Todd, but he adjusts a little so his words will be clear. “We’re out now.”

Todd takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he agrees softly, hand moving back to Dirk’s hair. Dirk just barely holds back his contented hum. “We are.”

 

When the van stops and they open the back doors up, it’s close to nighttime. Dirk feels far more exhausted than the time seems to indicate, but while Blackwing was very specific on how many days passed, on the subject of actual minutes and hours they were a lot quieter, so his concept of when he’s supposed to be tired may be vastly different from the rest of the people in the area at this point. His legs are still a little weak, but he manages to stay upright. He misses the feeling of Todd next to him for a split second, until Todd actually gets out of the van and stands so close to him that they’re touching, and he feels much better.

The Rowdy Three come up to them. Dirk tenses instinctively, wanting to shield both himself and Todd. Todd doesn’t have the same reaction, which is odd, but it’s not a question he wants to ask right now, and if Todd’s comfortable, that’s what matters.

“It’s pretty impressive how much more you look like shit outside of the fluorescent lights, kid,” Martin tells him.

“Yeah, well.” Todd shrugs. “Could be worse, I could look like you.”

Martin actually grins slightly. “Little shit.”

“Yep.”

Martin looks at Dirk, then at Todd. “Told you, you know.”

“Know what?”

“They didn’t break him. He put his head down and kept going. It’s what he does.”

Dirk gapes at Martin as all four Rowdies nod at them before Gripps yells “hey, guns girl, you got a van we can take?” as they walk up to Farah.

“Did.” Dirk blinks. “Did Martin just pay me a compliment?”

“Obliquely, I think.”

Marzanna punches Dirk in the arm as she and Ken approach. 

“ _Owwww_. I’m very frail right now, you know.” He says it casually, but it’s not entirely wrong either; he feels a bit like Blackwing’s hollowed out his bones to better emulate the birds their name suggests.

“Excuses, excuses.”

“Excuses for _what?_ ”

She ignores the question and turns to Todd. “Sorry you got stuck in that crapshack fuckshit of a building.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“Thanks.”

Ken hugs Todd. “We’ll call each other, okay?”

“Of course. See you round, Ken.”

The two of them start to wander off, Marzanna’s hand in Ken’s.

“Marzanna,” he calls suddenly. They both stop and Marzanna looks at him.

“Yeah?”

He thinks about it. “Good shot.”

She grins. “I sure hope I’m not supposed to kill you next time, Icarus.”

“Me, too.”

Dirk lets them go on their way this time as Amanda and Farah approach he and Todd.

“We have to confer with some van related, low profile so the CIA doesn’t kill them, business,” Farah tells them. She gives Todd a key. “Number 404. All the stuff you took with you originally for on the road is sitting on your couch still in the duffle bag. We’re number 108, call us if you need anything.”

Todd nods. Farah hugs them both again. Amanda hugs them too, burying her face in her brother before she quickly pulls back and wipes her eyes what she probably hopes is surreptitiously. Together, he and Todd go into the apartment building, a building beautiful and free of the CIA while still in their Blackwing jumpsuits.

 

When they’re in the elevator, Todd leans his head against Dirk.

Dirk just puts an arm around his shoulder and watches the numbers go up.

 

Their new apartment isn’t particularly large, but it doesn’t feel cramped, either. There’s a big window in the living room that Dirk is instantly in love with. The kitchen is set up pretty much the same as it was at Todd’s apartment in the Ridgely, except cleaner and better taken care of, with no dining room but a small, forlorn coffee table by the tan couch. The walls are all a nonthreatening cream. There’s nothing hanging on them. The floors are what looks like slightly scuffed maple (Dirk had to learn such things once for a case). He loves it.

He follows Todd over to the couch where the duffle bag is. Todd pulls it up onto the top of the back of the couch so he can open it and start rummaging around.

“Oh,” Dirk says, the sight making a realization suddenly dawn on him. “I don’t have any clothes.”

“You can have some of mine.”

“I-“

“Don’t fight me on this one.”

Dirk smiles a little. Todd stops rustling around in the bag and produces navy blue sweatpants and a Mexican Funeral shirt.

“Wear these.”

“I- wait.” Dirk frowns. “How many of these are left?”

“Just two, I think, I’ve got the other one with me.”

“Are… you sure you want to give one to me, then? I mean, I lost the other one.”

“You were kidnapped and thrown into psychic jail, Dirk, I’m not sure that counts as ‘losing it’.” That’s not the point and Dirk is ready to say that but Todd cuts him off. “Of course I’m sure. I want you to have the shirt.”

Dirk can’t help but feel a little pleased. Maybe more than a little pleased. “Thank you.”

“No big deal.”

Dirk goes into the bathroom to change. It’s a relatively small one, but it’s only meant for guests when they’re out in the living room, he thinks, because there’s no shower. Perhaps there’s another bathroom by the bedrooms. He changes into the new clothes and walks out to see Todd zipping the bag shut. He looks up at Dirk. He’s wearing an oversized Johnny Cash shirt over some gray sweatpants and even Dirk suddenly wondering if that shirt was oversized when Todd got brought into Blackwing can’t chase away how good it is to see him in something than what the CIA gave him, how he looks a little better in his own clothes.

“The clothes are so much softer,” he tells Todd. “I’d forgotten that this is what clothes are.”

Todd smiles faintly at him. “I’m glad you can feel them now.”

“Me, too.”

“Let’s go find the bedrooms.” Todd heads further into the apartment. Dirk follows Todd, traipsing after him because he can’t think of what else to do. It’s a move he may possibly execute forever.

They find one bedroom with a king size bed in it, with brown sheets. Todd falls right on his stomach and his face onto it, spreading his arms a little.

“Oh my god, Dirk,” he mumbles into the sheets. “It’s so comfortable. It’s so much better than the cots.”

“I’m sure.” Dirk’s hovering awkwardly. He should probably find the other bedroom. But he’s scared to leave Todd, flashes of Blackwing finding them and hauling him back dancing in his head. Would Todd let him sleep on his floor? Or is that weird? It sounds weird. It’s probably weird.

Without really moving, Todd pats the mattress next to him.

“Get in,” he says.

Dirk hesitates for a moment, then gets under the covers. Todd finally moves to curl up in the bed. The pillow are fluffier than the ones at the CIA, this bed is the best inanimate object Dirk’s ever seen, the sky is blue and if he looked through the windows tomorrow morning he could see the proof, and his favorite person is here. He loves it.

They lie on their sides to sleep. Dirk watches him, trying to memorize his face, all the soft parts and the hard ones. Todd looks quiet, and gentle, and Dirk sort of wants to reach out and touch him, but he doesn’t. Instead they fall asleep like that, gazing at each other until their eyes can no longer stay open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO I KNOW THAT WAS A HELL OF AN ANGST WHAMMY. EVERYONE GOOD? Y'ALL NEED A MINUTE? OKAY, EVERYONE TAKE A BREATH NOW.
> 
> ...
> 
> All right, we good? Cool.
> 
> Hannah and I have written a lot of angst in the relatively short span of time that we've known each other, and we agreed that as far as angst goes, this is the most concentrated kind we've ever written.
> 
> But don't worry! I promise we have a ton of fluff next chapter. Which also has some angst. But there is some serious fluff, and I feel like we've hit a nice balance here.


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk and Todd get back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter with the promised fluff.

Dirk wakes up in the morning to find that in their sleep, Todd came in close, face pressed against Dirk’s chest, a hand clasping Dirk’s shirt. Dirk’s got an arm around him. Dirk’s torn between not wanting to move, not even wanting to _breathe,_ lest Todd wakes up and wants to change their position, and wanting to get him nearer, be touching him more, because the rise and fall of his chest is even, he is warm where Dirk is these days always cold, he’s _Todd_. In the end he succumbs to the latter, gently adjusts the arm so he can place his hand flat on Todd’s back and push him slightly closer. In sleep, Todd exhales a little, shifts his forehead a little almost like he’s trying to nuzzle it into Dirk’s chest, and burrows closer. Now it’s no longer a question of not wanting to breathe, but not being _able_ to breathe. He closes his eyes and eventually his breathing regulates back to relatively normal. When he opens them again, he watches Todd as best he can.

Dirk spends a lot of time gazing at Todd before he stirs a little. Dirk tenses, waiting for it, for Todd to pull away, apologize, for Dirk to have to pretend that the reason he’s still holding onto him is because he woke up like this and hadn’t wanted to wake him.

“Was waking up at ungodly hours a thing they drilled into you?” Todd mumbles.

“Yes.”

“Hm.” Todd’s hand tightens in his shirt. “Can we work on fixing that? Seems… terrible.”

It is then that Dirk realizes that Todd is not going to move in embarrassment, not even close.

“Yeah,” Dirk tells him, kind of breathlessly. “I don’t see why not.”

“Good.” Todd yawns. “Probably late enough that we should get up now, though. D’you think Riggins got us a coffeemaker?”

“I’ve no clue.”

“Hm. He better have.”

Dirk grins. He can’t help it, at Todd’s grumpy tone; not angry, not scared, just hoarse early morning crankiness. “Another reason to loathe him, I suppose.”

Todd laughs. It’s such a wonderful sound that Dirk has to rest his chin on top of Todd’s head. Todd shifts to get as close as he can. They don’t get up for another half an hour.

 

As it turns out, Riggins left them with no coffeemaker. Todd grumbles, searching for shoes for them both. They stagger down to Starbucks in the clothes they slept in and without doing a thing to their bedhead.

“Todd,” Dirk asks while they wait in line. “What is a Midnight Mint Mocha Frappuccino Blended Coffee? This seems to be a lot of words for a beverage.”

“It’s like mint and chocolate and coffee and I guess there’s whipped cream in there too.”

“Oh. That sounds nice.” Dirk looks down at him. “Are you going to get a black coffee because you think it makes you tough?”

Todd laughs again. Dirk wonders how often he can make him do it. “No, I’m not, actually.”

The lady behind the counter doesn’t even blink at the sight of them so disheveled. Dirk orders the midnight mint thing and Todd gets a coffee with cream and sugar. They both get pastries for breakfast, an apple fritter for Todd and an almond croissant for Dirk. Todd digs out what looks like the last of the cash in his wallet to pay. When Dirk bites into the croissant, he is hit with all of the flavors, reminding him that outside Blackwing food has taste, and he makes a slightly protracted appreciative noise.

“We’re going out to a supermarket and getting food today,” he says. “All of it. We’re just going to go up to shelves and grab armfuls and drop them in carts.”

Todd looks pink for a reason Dirk can’t figure out, clearing his throat. “I’ll talk to Farah about what the money situation looks like.”

The drinks come and Dirk’s eyes widen at the taste. Todd smiles.

“Good?”

“I’m having this with every meal.”

“I’m not even sure you having coffee in your system is a good idea _now_ , never mind every meal.”

Dirk sniffs at they walk out of the building. “Very rude of you.”

Todd’s smile widens, looking up at the blue blue sky. Dirk screws his courage to the sticking place and reaches out with the hand not holding his decadent and delicious beverage to take Todd’s. Todd jumps at the contact and Dirk’s about to pull his hand back and talk loudly about how weather really does like to change when Todd intertwines their fingers and takes a sip of his coffee. He wrinkles his nose and sticks his tongue out.

“Ahhhhhhgh, hot.”

Dirk grins, feeling like sunshine inside. “You ordered a hot coffee. This generally means it’s hot.”

Todd lowers his gaze from the sky to the street ahead, their hands swinging very slightly. “Shut up.”

 

“This TV might be from 1992,” Todd says, poking at it. “I’m feeling pretty nostalgic right now.”

“It looks like it might be the size of your head.”

The two of them are investigating the apartment. Dirk’s ambled into the kitchen. He briefly turns on each appliance.

“Well, everything works, at least.”

“Anything in the fridge?”

Dirk tugs on the door. “There is a half empty jug of tomato juice.”

“Appetizing. 

Dirk opens the cabinets. “There’s no plates in here.”

Todd stands in the doorway of the kitchen. “Doesn’t look like there’s any other kind of dishes, either.”

“Nope.”

“Riggins is really bad at trying to gain your forgiveness.”

The joke is so unexpected that Dirk makes an ugly giggle-snort sound and then immediately claps his hand over his mouth. He looks at Todd in the doorway, who’s broken into a grin.

“What sound was _that?_ ”

“Nothing.” Dirk’s voice is muffled by his hand.

“Is that a noise you make? Like, more than this time?”

“No.”

There’s a knock on the door. Todd goes to look through the peephole, for which Dirk is grateful as he lowers his hand, because it means this conversation is no longer being had. Todd opens the door and Amanda and Farah come through it.

“So did Riggins store your room really crappily, too?” Amanda asks without preamble.

“Yup.”

“It’s probably because no one was supposed to stay here any extended period of time.” Farah’s looking around a little. “Perfunctory furnishing.”

Todd sits on the couch. Amanda hesitantly sits next to him. Todd tentatively shuffles closer. She doesn’t move away. It’s obvious that neither of them really know how to handle their relationship now.

“So, what’s the deal with money?” Todd asks. “Because we have literally nothing but a nice bed in here. And we’re gonna get hungry.”

“I was going to talk to you about that.” Farah holds out a credit card to Todd. “We only just made a dent in the four million dollars. Obviously don’t go absolutely insane, but you have more than enough cash to buy food and better furnishings and luxuries and stuff.”

Todd stares at it. “Really? But. Lydia gave you that money. It’s _yours_.”

“She did,” Farah agrees. “And I’m using it. I’m benefacting.”

A slight smile shows up on Todd’s face. “You were supposed to benefact the agency.”

“I can do both.” She further pushes the credit card at him. “You’re my friend. And you look like a ghost of yourself. Take the card and buy some food and some pillows and, I don’t know, something nice.”

Todd purses his lips slightly like he’s trying to hold back a smile or tears. Dirk thinks it might be both. He takes the card. “I promise to try my hardest to make you regret this.”

Farah kneels a little so she can give him a hug. “We missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

“Both of us,” Amanda says quietly as Farah pulls back. Todd’s eyes widen and he swallows.

“Missed you too, sis.”

Farah gets up and hugs Dirk tightly. Amanda joins her so they’re both holding onto him. He puts an arm on both of them and closes his eyes with a smile.

“You’re too skinny,” Amanda mumbles as she pulls back. “Go get some food.”

“I assure you, that is the first thing on our list.”

Amanda quickly, awkwardly hugs Todd before she and Farah leave. Todd looks astounded, then breaks into a wide grin.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go get a stupid amount of food.”

 

“Todd,” Dirk whispers.

“I know,” Todd whispers back.

“ _Todd._ ”

“I _know_.”

They stare at the rows and rows of food in awe. Todd takes Dirk’s hand with the one not holding onto the cart. Dirk wonders if he’s feeling a little overwhelmed, too.

“I want all of it. Can we have all of it?”

“Probably not.” Todd’s eyes are fixed on some strawberries. “I understand the impulse, though.”

“Right. Right. We have to be practical and smart and probably healthy about this.”

 

They both have two carts. One of them is filled with more reasonable food and the other with less reasonable food.

“I feel I must warn you,” Dirk says as they pay. “That if you give me a bag of barbecue potato chips, I only stop when either the bag is empty or I am dead.”

“That’s fair. I should tell you that if you get in between me and one of the boxes of Coconut Dreams cookies, the one that I’ve claimed as mine, they will never find your body.”

Dirk nods solemnly. “This seems reasonable.”

 

They put their food in the kitchen (it doesn’t all fit so they pile all the junk food that doesn’t need to be refrigerated on the counters) and then set out again to get some better pillows and blankets. They decided they didn’t really see the point of getting proper furniture, if it’s only a safehouse, but there’s no way in hell they’re not getting better blankets and pillows.

“So what exactly is the beyond in Bed Bath and Beyond?” Dirk asks when they walk in.

Todd shrugs. “At this point, I’m willing to believe that it’s an alternate dimension where they sell metaphysical nail trimmers.”

“I _knew_ it.”

They wander around a little before they actually go to the pillows and blankets. They amble through the curtains section. Dirk gasps and rushes to a set of white curtains, a third of them black, with the rest of the curtains looking like they were splattered with bright colors.

“Todd, _look._ ” He turns to Todd. “We should get more things with colors.”

Todd’s smiling at him fondly. “I’m okay with it.”

Dirk touches the curtains lightly, then turns back to Todd, beaming. “Let’s go get nice things.”

Todd goes to look at pillows and Dirk heads for the blankets. Dirk sees a dark purple one that looks sort of plush and velvety. He smiles and reaches out to touch it. It’s one of the softest things he’s ever felt. He stares at it.

Yesterday morning, he had been in Blackwing. Somewhere gray. Everything had been washed out. Everything had been coarse. He had been regularly tortured, had been _going_ to be tortured, continuously, as always. He would spend all day with that and fall asleep on a cot in a jumpsuit with the symbol they used to tag him so they had something else to use other than his name on it, eating food that had the consistency of and tasted like rubber.

Last night, he fell asleep in Todd’s clothes. He fell asleep next to Todd. He woke up holding him. They had been in actual sheets on a soft mattress. They’d gone to a cafe together and gotten food that tasted like something. They’d seen Amanda and Farah. They’d just gotten a ton of food that they got to choose. They get to make choices. Dirk got to hold Todd’s hand.

They still don’t have Names. Todd still has pararibulitis. They still have to hide. But they’re here, they’re out, he’s with Todd, he gets to have soft things.

Todd comes up to him, still grabbing the blanket.

“You okay?” he asks gently.

Dirk swallows, blinking to try and remove the blurriness of his vision.

“It’s so soft,” he manages. It doesn’t make any sense. Doesn’t communicate what he wants it to. He doesn’t know how to say what he’s feeling.

A hand suddenly joins his next to the blanket at the same time one takes the hand that isn’t touching the blanket. Dirk looks at Todd and his face seems to be holding the same emotion Dirk’s feeling. Dirk wants to kiss him, but he’s not sure they’re there yet.

“It is,” Todd agrees. “You wanna get it?”

Dirk nods. “Yeah.”

Todd squeezes his hand and puts it in their cart.

 

They also get a watercolor comforter set, lots of pillows and throws. They bring it back to the apartment again and leave it there before they go to get Dirk some clothes of his own.

“What do you even wear when you’re not on a case?” Todd asks as they enter the mall, which seems like the best avenue.

Dirk shrugs. “Long sleeved button down shirts and jeans for going out but not work related. Sometimes tee shirts and sweatpants for when I’m having an inside day. Oh, and your clothes, of course.”

Todd goes a little pink. “Um. Right. Of course.” He clears his throat. “At least you know what you’re looking for, then.”

“Very true. Come on, let’s go find ourselves some things.”

“Dirk, I have clothes.”

Dirk rolls his eyes. “It’s no fun doing it on my own. Come on.”

“I guess I could probably use a new backpack.”

“Well, you’re _clearly_ the life of the party.”

“You wore a bright yellow jacket to break into my apartment, Dirk, you’re not allowed to judge anyone for anything that they buy.”

They browse a JC Penney’s for a little bit. Todd gets his backpack, slings it over his new white shirt patterned with what Dirk thinks might be tiny golden flowers. Dirk likes it that people let them wear the new clothes out of the store sometimes. 

Dirk steps out of a fitting room in a Kohl’s in jeans and a green long sleeved button down with small white flowers, the key to the safe house apartment slung round his neck on a black cord. He’s also pulled on a pair of glasses frames he’d seen because he thought they’d looked nice.

“So?” he asks hesitantly. He’s been tentative with every new outfit.

“You-“ Todd clears his throat. “You look nice. You don’t wear glasses, though.”

Dirk sniffs. “I _could,_ you know. In the sense that I probably should because I don’t see close up very well, and that I could because I am an adult who can do things. Besides, they look good.”

Todd evaluates him for a moment. “Yeah,” he says finally. “They do.” He walks up to Dirk and straightens enough that he can reach to put his hands lightly on either side of Dirk’s face so he can push the glasses up by the edges with his thumbs. Dirk goes pink and feels his entire brain go _meep_ , something that only gets louder when Todd’s fingers brush his flaming cheeks coming away from Dirk’s head. Todd’s so close he can probably see Dirk blushing, a thought that reddens him further. Maybe there’s a way to explain it away. Casually mention that his cheeks feel warm? That could probably lead into him saying the store feels awful heated. That works. He can try that.

“My face is so hot,” he stammers out, and then internally punches himself in his mental gut.

Todd grins. “I know.”

Dirk can’t tell if he means that his face is literally hot or the other thing. “Shut up,” he mumbles. “You’re mean and I’m getting some glasses.”

Todd’s grin widens. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

They get Dirk a pair of actually functioning glasses at the eyeglass place so he can see things up close within the next two hours. They spend those hours at the arcade. Dirk’s very pleased.

 

“Dirk.”

Dirk starts with a grunt.

“Did I fall asleep on you?” he mumbles when he becomes away that the side of his head is resting against Todd’s shoulder. They’d been watching cartoons on the couch earlier, he thinks.

“Yeah. And I can’t carry you back there.”

Dirk hmphs. “You could have at least tried.”

“Next time I’ll just drop you, then.” Dirk can hear the smile in Todd’s voice.

“That’s-“ Dirk yawns. “The spirit.”

 

Dirk wakes up to Todd’s arm around him and his breath tickling his ear. He doesn’t quite go back to sleep, but he closes his eyes and smiles.

 

They didn’t get a coffeemaker at Bed Bath & Beyond because every single one Todd could find that weren’t close to or upwards from a hundred dollars were in the clearance section and clearly unusable. Todd had gone on a quiet rant about gaudy and lavish coffeemakers. There had possibly been a bit about how Todd’s coffeemaker in college had been able to go uphill both ways in snowstorms in there too. Dirk had still been stuck in the fact that the two of them were free and had just sort of been wrapped up in watching him be actively annoyed about something that wasn’t going to cost him his life and not really been paying attention to what he was actually saying.

So they end up going to Starbucks again, and Dirk gets what he insists on calling the chocolate coffee milkshake.

“It’s not actually a milkshake,” Todd tells him when they’re back at the apartment.

“It has whipped cream and chocolate and is cold, how is it _not_ a milkshake?”

“Those things don’t necessarily make something a-“

The coffee drops from Todd’s hand and splatters against their floors as Todd hisses, staggering until his back hits the wall, staring at his hands. Dirk’s stomach swoops as he rushes in front of him, thoughts swarming to Blackwing having somehow poisoned him.

“Todd?”

“My hands are burning.” His teeth are clenched but his face is screaming panic and it clicks for Dirk.

“Do you have any medication?”

“Duffle bag. Half bottle of Amanda’s that she gave me.”

Dirk rifles through the bag, grabs the bottle. He jumps over the hot spilled coffee to grab a plastic cup from the kitchen and fill it with water. He kneels in front of Todd. “Open your mouth.”

Todd obeys and Dirk puts the pill in it, presses the water cup against Todd’s lips so he can drink from it. After a few moments, Todd’s hands stop shaking quite so badly, but still trembling.

“Sorry,” Todd gasps.

“Sorry? For what?”

“This, uh, this, uh-“ He gestures a little. “This thing. This whole thing. It doesn’t go away. It’s with me now. It stays, always. It’s stuck here.”

Dirk stares at him.

“Well,” he says. “We have that in common, then.”

Todd’s eyes widen.

Then he lunges at Dirk in a hug. Dirk’s frozen for just a moment before he responds just as tightly. The two of them sit like that for a little bit, breathing each other in.

 

“You should get a hammock,” Amanda tells Dirk as he passes her a Coke. “Just hang it right here in the living room.”

“Where would we put it?”

“I dunno. Hang it from the ceiling?” She points at Todd with the Coke. “Todd likes hammocks.”

Dirk looks at Todd interestedly. “Do you really?”

Todd smiles a little. “I do.”

Amanda grins at Dirk. “Seems surprisingly laid back for him, doesn’t it?”

It’s been five days since they got out of Blackwing. Dirk knows that Todd and Amanda aren’t quite sure where they stand still. When Todd got dragged in by Blackwing, they had still been on bad terms. Then Blackwing happened, and time passed differently for both of them and they’d dealt with their problems differently, and now that they’ve been thrown back together, no one knows where the even ground is. They seem to be slowly circling some peace and Dirk hopes they find it. 

“Slowly circling” for both of them seems to involve tentative jabs at each other like used to be involved right now, though, and Dirk enjoys the camaraderie of that with Amanda. He grins back. “It does.”

“I can be laid back.”

“Yes, but only really in the mornings when you’re just waking up, the rest of the time you’re pretty wound.”

Dirk sees Amanda’s eyebrows go up. He goes a little pink but she doesn't say anything except “yeah, you’re the human equivalent of a spring, dude, you’re almost Farah bad”.

Farah frowns at Amanda. “I resent that.”

“Are you trying to tell me you’re not tightly wound?”

“I’m trying to tell you I resent the comparison to Todd.”

Dirk and Amanda laugh as Todd pokes Farah in the ribs. “I resent _that_ , thank you.”

“He tried to convince our mom to let him have a hammock in his bedroom in place of a bed when he was a kid,” Amanda tells Dirk. “She told him that once he had his own place, he could do what he wanted.”

“Did you?”

“I did. I don’t actually remember what happened to it, though, I never hung it up.”

“Cause you’re tightly wound.”

Todd narrows his eyes. “I resent you, too.”

Dirk laughs again.

 

Dirk likes the sunlight.

He thinks he deserves it, after all this. There were no windows in Blackwing, or at least the rooms he was allowed into, and now they have multiple ones in their apartment, and he gets to see the sunlight _all the time_.

So he likes to lie on the floor in the late morning when the sun streams in and follow it across the boards, slowly turning to do so. He never stands up to chase it, only ever rolls and shuffles around after it while grumbling.

One such morning, Dirk is lying face down on the floor, a single arm outstretched to get the last of the sunlight, when he can feel it beginning to leave his fingertips. He’s still often so cold in the wake of Blackwing that he’s always aware of the fading of warmth.

“Noooooo.” He reaches a little. “Ehhhhhhhhhh.” The sunlight ignores him whining at it. “Todd. Todd, make the sun come back.”

Dirk hears Todd shift and stand up from where he’d been sitting on the couch and for a brief moment he thinks he might actually have a way to do it, but then he hears something being put down gently next to him and the sound of a switch being flicked, and realizes Todd’s put the small desk lamp that’s been on the list of weird things Riggins furnished the house with next to him and presumably shined it on him.

“Todd _._ ”

“Yes?”

“That’s not the sun.”

“It could be a very little sun.”

“But it’s not. Desk lamps don’t have vitamins. I require vitamins.”

Todd pads away again and signifies his return by carefully putting something on Dirk’s back.

“ _Todd_.”

“Yeah?”

“That had better not be a bottle of vitamins.”

“Amanda gave me one.” Dirk can hear the grin in his voice. “She says all vitamins should be chewable and in gummy form.”

Dirk turns over into the patch of sunlight that had eluded him and sends the bottle of vitamins skittering into a corner somewhere. He lies on his back and opens his eyes to glare at Todd, who’s looking pleased with himself.

“Are you photosynthesizing?” Todd asks.

“No, I am bloody well _not._ ”

“Because I’ve seen no proof that you’re not.” He gestures at Dirk’s emerald shirt. “You’re even wearing green.”

Dirk sits up and tugs his shirt over his head. He returns to lying flat on his back in the warmth, his hair scattering a little behind his head when he does. He smirks at Todd, who looks startled and maybe a little dazed.

“So there,” he says smugly, eyes sliding back shut.

“Yep.” Todd sounds something oddly close to strangled. “So there for sure. I definitely learned my lesson.”

 

Farah’s sitting on the couch with Dirk, correcting him every once in a while, adjusting the hook in front of him. She’s been crocheting with him, teaching him how to do it as they go. Dirk likes it, likes spending time with Farah without some form of threat hanging over them. She’s a little tightly wound, anxiety poking in around the edges of her life, but Dirk is the same. They complement each other.

Apparently Lydia had gone through a crocheting phase, and persuaded Farah to join her. Farah had turned out to be really good at it. Right now she’s working on a bright pink sweater. Dirk’s vaguely surprised at the color because she didn’t seem like a pink sort of girl, but the feeling passes quickly.

“I like it,” he tells her as he carefully works on his slightly lumpy dark blue scarf. He picked out a dark color specifically because he wants to give it to Todd and he thinks it’ll work well with the rest of his wardrobe. “It looks nice.”

Farah flushes a little down at the sweater and shyly looks down at it.

“It’s soft,” she says. “And I like bright colors, when I’m not working.”

“I like them, too.”

They sit in companionable silence for a minute or two before suddenly, Dirk’s hands start violently shaking. He grits his teeth and tries to ignore it, but soon it becomes so bad that he can’t crochet anymore. He puts the scarf and hook in his lap, glaring down at it, trying not to cry.

They think it’s probably an aftereffect of the electrode sessions. Sometimes his hands just almost vibrate. He can’t find any way to get it to stop.

“Do you know why I showed you how to crochet?”

Dirk looks up to see Farah watching him speculatively. “No, I suppose.”

“Because your hands are still useful. No matter how often they do that-“ she gestures at his hands. “You can still create. You can still use them. They didn’t take that from you.”

Dirk stares. Then he hugs her. Farah responds in kind after what is probably a surprised second.

“You’re a good friend,” he whispers.

“Thanks,” she whispers back.

 

Sometimes when Dirk and Todd are sitting next to each other on the couch watching their tiny TV, Todd will abruptly put an arm around him and pull him a little closer. Dirk will curl into him, fall asleep like that sometimes. It’s nice, but he knows there’s a reason behind it Todd’s not talking about, and he knows if he waits, he’ll hear it.

He’s not wrong, per se. Dirk actually hears the reason when he’s drifting off to sleep in their bed, Todd’s hand in his hair. He’s started doing that lately. Dirk likes it.

“You were so _cold_ ,” Todd whispers suddenly.

Dirk flattens his hand against Todd’s chest.

“You’ve always been warm,” he says into the darkness. “I’m getting warmer, too.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Because of you.”

“Not just because of me.”

“Mostly because of you.” Dirk presses his temple a little further into him. “Space heater.”

The comment has the intended effect of making Todd laugh. “Thanks.”

“Small one, though.”

“Wow. Maybe you should find another one.”

Dirk’s hand tightens in Todd’s shirt. Todd’s other arm comes around him. “I like the one I have.”

 

“Apparently Riggins texted Farah this morning,” Todd tells Dirk, looking at his phone while Dirk makes the bed. 

Dirk whips his head up from the sheet, whips his head back, and tries to look up more casually. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Farah and Amanda won’t give him my number.”

Dirk purses his lips a little and looks back at the pillowcase he’s adjusting. “Good.”

He sees Todd smile slightly out of the corner of his eye. “They won’t give him yours, either.”

“He wouldn’t try and text me.” Not if he’s smart, anyway, and no matter what else Dirk might think of him, he can’t deny that the man is usually that. “What did he want?”

“He says that he’s working on things still, but that once we’re all clear he can sign the apartment over, so it’ll be ours.”

Dirk doesn’t even bother trying to disguise or fix his head jerking up this time. Todd flushes and starts stammering.

“I, uh, I mean, shit, or yours, it could be yours, or mine, if you want, or even someone else’s, it doesn’t, uh, I didn’t mean-“

“No,” Dirk interrupts quickly. “No, no, I’d like it to be ours, please, yes, if you’d like.”

Todd goes even redder but grins. “Okay.”

Dirk smiles as he smoothes out a sheet. “Okay.”

 

“So many of these things are haunted,” Dirk says while they browse a thrift store. “They’ve got to be, right?”

“Yes.” Todd squints at the price on a black couch, grimaces and drops it. “Undoubtedly.”

“Why do people buy haunted things?”

“To be edgy?”

Dirk flicks on a lamp. “Todd,” he tells him. “If you feel the compulsion to be edgy, I must warn you, I’m going to kick you out of our apartment.”

Todd ducks his head with a grin. They’ve both been doing that since they’ve gone shopping for new, non-Riggins related furniture, saying the words _“our apartment_ ”. Hearing it or saying it never fails to make Dirk feel almost giddy. “Shouldn’t be a problem.” As if to illustrate this, Todd accidentally brushes up against a blue Furby that has a sash around it that says YEAR 2000 FURBY and turns it on. He screams and flails backwards onto the couch.

 

“Why did you think that you could ask two tiny people to help two skinny people move furniture?” Amanda pants as they finally get their new brown leather couch oriented properly in their living room. “This was a terrible plan. You two are terrible planners.”

“Dirk once brought a knife to a gun fight and told me to throw a dog off a bridge, I think he deserves more shit than I do here.”

“I could probably plan better if Todd didn’t snore,” Dirk counters in place of any actual rebuttal, because Todd does actually plan better than he does, and they both know it.

“You hadn’t heard me snore when either of those things occurred.”

“The snores were so powerful that they rippled back through time psychically and caused a disturbance in my planning abilities, _obviously_.”

“I don’t care whose fault it is,” Farah says. “I care that we didn’t call the Rowdy Three to do this.”

“The Rowdy Three don’t have phones,” Todd points out.

“Yeah, but you didn’t even try dangling a six pack out your window to see if it would summon them,” Amanda shoots back. “That’s some weak shit, dude.”

Normally, Dirk would not be entirely certain that he’d want the Rowdy Three’s help with anything to do with their apartment, but, as he and Farah heft an armchair, arms already aching a little, he thinks he could be persuaded to change his mind.

 

“I understand we were going to need a coffeemaker eventually,” Dirk calls to Todd while he carefully rests their dingy one on the stove. “And that it’d need to be cheap, but this one might _actually_ be terrible, so-“

He strides into their bedroom to get another of their throw pillows they’d just piled on the bed for the past couple of weeks and stops dead. Hanging in one of their two windows, the one on the wall opposite their bed and the door, are the curtains he’d seen before the day after they got out, all splashed with color. He walks up to them a little dazedly, reaching out to brush his fingers against the vibrant hues, only distantly hearing Todd’s footsteps come and stop next to him.

“Those are the ones, right?” Todd’s voice is tentative. “The ones you liked?”

“Yeah,” Dirk breathes. “They are.” 

He runs the fabric between his thumb and his forefinger. It’s so soft.

“There’s a small record player in one of the boxes in the corner of the living room,” he tells Todd, still looking at the curtains. “Amanda helped me pick it out because I don’t know anything about them. And also a hammock, in case I’d gotten it wrong.”

A pause.

Todd moves a little and his arms slide around his waist from behind. “You didn’t.”

Dirk links his hand with one of the ones resting at his middle and keeps watching the way the sunlight comes in through the curtains, smiling.

 

Dirk spends a little time trying to figure out if they’re avoiding talking about everything.

Because they don’t, really. Wry references, dark jokes, sometimes. But they rarely actually talk about what’s happened to them.

Should they be doing this?

Are they trying to live in a world where none of it never happened?

Then one night they’re watching their brand new television, newer but still small, a black and white comedy. One of the leads cracks a joke and Todd’s beverage spits out of his nose. He claps his hands over his face and Dirk starts laughing.

“Shuddup,” Todd mumbles, voice still quaking with laughter. He gets up to get a paper towel and Dirk thinks suddenly as he watches him go that maybe they’re not avoiding anything. Maybe talking about it in bits and pieces for now is the best way to go.

Maybe they’re learning who they are outside of Blackwing, who they are when they’re together. They only knew each other for a week before Wilson and Friedkin, and they’re not the same people that they were then. Maybe they’re finding out who they are now, who the other is. Maybe that’s where they need to be right now. They’ll get to where they need to go later.

Todd returns, wiping off his face, and glares. “I don’t have to take this crap from you, Dirk.”

Dirk grins. “I didn’t say anything.”

Todd harrumphs. Dirk’s grin widens.

He likes who Todd is outside of Blackwing, he thinks. He liked him before, and he likes him now.

 

Dirk turns off the lights in the other rooms, locks the doors and the windows for the night. They keep a window open in their bedroom always to let the air circulate in, because that was a luxury never afforded them before. The other ones get locked up.

When he heads into their bedroom, Todd’s looking down at his phone without his shirt on.

“Amanda’s texting me Farah drunk-ranting about putting eleven year olds into Houses defined by still forming personality traits in Harry Potter,” he says. “Apparently it’s gone on five minutes and she’s still going. She’s got a point, you know.”

Dirk’s not really listening to Todd, through no fault of his. He can’t stop staring at Todd’s left side.

He’s not quite sure how it’s worked out that they’ve made it this far without Dirk actually seeing Todd without his shirt off. It’s been three and a half weeks, maybe, and yet, this is somehow the first time he’s seeing the scar ripped into Todd’s stomach. It’s not as red as he might have pictured it once, having faded somewhat, but it still stands out against his skin. His lungs are tight.

Todd sees Dirk frozen. His brow furrows and he opens his mouth, until he sees where he’s looking. Then he closes his mouth, puts his phone on the nightstand, and approaches Dirk. Dirk doesn’t take his eyes off the scar.

“Dirk,” he tells him softly. “Breathe.”

“I’m breathing,” he whispers.

“No, you’re not.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. He reaches, stretches, pauses in front of the scar.

“You can touch it, if you want. It’s okay.”

Dirk’s fingers rest against the bump of raised flesh.

“Does it hurt?”

Dirk sees Todd shake his head out of the corner of his eye.

“Not anymore. Now it’s just there.” Dirk runs his thumb over it and swallows. “It’s not your fault, Dirk.”

“I-“

“It’s not. You didn’t do this to me.”

Dirk finally looks at him. His face is steady.

“Is this what it feels like when you see my neck?” he asks.

Todd twitches and shrugs, his eyes flitting up to the scar there. “I don’t know,” he says. “But it’s not very pleasant.” His gaze goes back to Dirk. “Which isn’t your fault, either.”

Dirk’s hand is shaking against Todd. “I would have stopped it, if I could have.”

Todd’s eyes widen. “I, holy shit, I _know_. Trust me, I know. I know this wasn’t something, Dirk, you _tried_. You tried to throw yourself under the damn bus for me, I _remember_. The stuff after I got shot, it’s a little-“ he waves a hand near his head. Dirk understands. “I remember you holding me when I was bleeding, I remember them dragging you away from me, but a little while after that, I’m a little shaky, but the stuff before? You tried to tell Friedkin to let me go, that you would do anything if he let me go. And I was still, okay, I was still a little rattled, you know, I didn’t say something when I should have, but I wanted to tell you that you shouldn’t, that you shouldn’t just give yourself up to try and save my life, but I didn’t, but I _wanted_ to. You tried to stop him, Dirk, you might not have known what he was going to do but you still tried. I know you would have stopped it, and if I’d had my shit together, I would have told you not to try, because I wouldn’t have wanted them to let me go just so I could leave you behind with those fucking people.”

“You’d just had quite a shock. I don’t blame you for not saying anything. I would have ignored you if you had.” Dirk swallows. “I should have told you sooner. I was going to tell you, I promise I was, but I should have told you when I realized.”

“You thought you were alone all your life and then you suddenly weren’t, and you knew but I didn’t, and you didn’t know what to do.” Todd’s eyes look wet. Dirk thinks his are, too. “You should have told me about the Perriman Grand. I’m not mad at you for not telling me about this right away. I believe you that you would have told me.”

Dirk nods. “Okay,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Todd repeats at the same volume.

They stand like that for a moment until Todd pulls him into a tight hug. Dirk buries his face in his neck. Todd’s hands are shaking against him now, too. It only makes him hold him closer, the thought comforting him that maybe if he can’t get his breathing back to normal quite yet, at least he’s not alone in that.

 

It’s much later and they’re both lying in bed, the room dark except for the dim lights of the city through the curtains, although Dirk knows Todd isn’t asleep either. They’d ended up so Dirk’s holding onto Todd, his back to the front of once Todd’s, now Dirk’s Mexican Funeral shirt. Dirk’s thumb is slowly moving back and forth across Todd’s stomach, over flat and smooth skin now and not the scar.

“In between my shoulder blades,” Todd says suddenly. He sounds anxious but a bit determined. Dirk blinks at the disruption to the long silence.

“What?”

“That’s where it was. My Name. It was between my shoulder blades.”

Dirk’s heart swoops a little. He moves one of his hands to tap right in the middle of where Todd’s shoulder blades curve the closest to each other. “Right here?”

“Yeah.”

It doesn’t look like there was ever anything there, but then again, Dirk has spent considerable time searching in the mirror for where his might have been, and he can’t find any trace of it. 

Dirk scrutinizes the spot for a long, appraising moment.

Then he adjusts slightly so he can press a kiss to the area. Todd inhales a shaky breath. Normally that would cause Dirk to worry that he’d done the wrong thing, but this time, he’s certain that’s not what it is at all.

“I never liked that name very much, anyway,” he tells Todd.

Todd’s voice is a little choked. “But it was still yours.”

“Not really.” His arm wraps around so his hand is gently resting against Todd’s chest. “It hasn’t meant anything to me for a very long time. The only thing about it that has any importance attached is that because of it I knew I was meant to find you. That we’re meant to be a we. It being gone now doesn’t mean that’s changed. I know who we are to each other, no matter how hard they tried to erase it. They couldn’t take that away from me, no matter how hard they tried. The physical reminder might be gone, but the link’s still here.” He rests his forehead on the back of Todd’s head. “I don’t like that they did this to you, I hate that they stole it from you, I hate that you were alone when it happened. I’d have been there if I could, even if I couldn’t have made them stop it, just so you weren’t on your own. But I’m here now. And so are you. We’re still a we, and I can’t think of any way anyone can make us stop.”

Todd’s breathing is still ragged. His hand comes up and covers the one of Dirk’s on his chest, their fingers linking together.

“You never were a monster,” he whispers.

“I know.” Dirk kisses between his shoulder blades again, feels his grip tighten slightly. “But thank you for reminding me.”

 

“ _Dude_ ,” Amanda says delightedly when she shows up at the apartment. The two of them go out together at least once a week. They obviously can’t draw too much attention to themselves, so they do mundane little things. Out for food, browsing bookstores. Sometimes they drag Farah and Todd with them to go bowling. Dirk and Farah are the best at it. Dirk loves the everyday nature of their adventures. It’s more than he could have ever dreamed of.

Dirk tugs on his jacket. He doesn’t do bright colors as much right now so he won’t draw attention to himself, although he knows he will when they’re cleared to be members of society again. He’s wearing a brown coat with lots of buttons that goes to his middle over one of Todd’s band tee shirts (The Killers today) and dark blue jeans. “Dude which?”

“You got a _hammock_. Bro.”

“Oh, yes.” They’ve hung the hammock up near the second and last window in the living room. Sometimes Todd will lie in it to take a nap and when Dirk notices he’s there, he climbs in next to him, Todd’s arm sleepily being thrown over him, the two of them curled up together.

“ _Fucking_ awesome. Did you get it or Todd?”

“I got it for Todd. He bought me curtains.”

“That’s… good?”

“Very.”

“Good.”

 

They go to batting cages today. Dirk doesn’t enjoy doing it personally (when he tried he screamed at the oncoming ball), but Amanda adores it and Dirk likes that it makes her happy. He thinks it might be a substitute for not being able to go and wreck things with the Rowdy Three. His feelings on them are still shaky, and Amanda recognizes this, graciously only occasionally bringing them up in conversation (perhaps two or three times since they got out). So he sits and watches Amanda joyfully swing her bat and chats with her, and then they go get a snack that’s terrible for them afterwards.

“Are you going to paint your walls at all?” she asks.

“I don’t think so. I like the cream. Besides, if I didn’t I’d probably want bright colors, and I think your brother would spend a lot of time glaring at bright blue walls.”

Amanda laughs. “Probably.” She swings the bat and hits the ball with a _crack_. “So hey, personal question?”

“I feel like we rarely ask any other kinds of questions.”

“Have you and Todd figured out your shit? Like… romantic styles?”

Dirk tilts his head, thinking it through.

“We’ve only talked about the business with the Names a little,” he finally and thoughtfully answers. “We haven’t kissed. But we wake up every morning to one of us holding onto the other, and we own an apartment together, and we hold hands when we go out. We’re very happy to be together. So I’m not quite sure if that answers your question or not, or even what the answer to the question necessarily is, but we’re happy when we’re around each other, and we’ll get to the other stuff later, but for this is enough.” Dirk smiles. “I like your brother.”

“Yeah, me too, sometimes.” She glances back at Dirk with her nose wrinkled before the next ball comes. “Not like in the way you do, though, I just realized how that sounded and like, _gross._ ”

Dirk laughs. “I understood you.”

“Good.” She turns back to the ball machine.

“May I also counter with a personal question?”

Another _crack_. “Shoot.”

“How are you and Todd doing?”

“I…” she sighs. “Better. Cause, you know, we were together for three weeks after you were taken, and it turned out he had pararibulitis, and I didn’t quite hate him but I wasn’t far off, but I also still loved him and didn’t like that he had it. And then he was gone, and I didn’t know if he was alive for a long time. And that just… complicated things.”

“How did you find out he was alive?”

“Vogel.”

“Really?”

“He’s linked up with the others. So when they started bringing Todd to…” he clears his throat. “Well, he knew. And he told me. So I knew then, but then I knew he was in bad shape. And then when we got there and I actually _saw_ him…” she shakes her head. “I know you saw him worse, but it was still… it wasn’t good. So I’m still sort of dealing with him lying to me, but also everything else, and I don’t know. We’re working it out.”

“I’m sorry it’s so complicated.”

She shrugs. “Not your fault.” She hesitates. “You know I didn’t ask to pry, right?”

“I do.”

“I just want to know if you two are just. You know. Coping.”

Dirk thinks about it again.

“I’m still having nightmares,” he tells her. “I assume Todd is, too. We don’t talk about them. My hands still shake sometimes, aftereffects of the electrode sessions. We have bad days. But, well. We bought furniture together. Which sounds… I don’t know, sounds odd, but it’s stability. We bought furniture that might have been cheap and used, but it’s meant to last. _We’re_ going to last, for as long as possible. Furniture is security. It’s safety that we have, together. So we struggle sometimes. But not always.”

“I’m glad.” Dirk can hear the smile in Amanda’s voice. “So, are you going to come give this a shot?”

“No, thank you.”

“Come on, I kinda wanna hear you squeal again.”

“Hard pass, thank you.”

 

Todd and Dirk are at a record store browsing. They have one or two from the thrift store Dirk had gotten the record player, but Todd didn’t have any pararibulitis attacks for two days straight, and they’re celebrating a little.

“There must be something you like,” Todd says, fingers skimming the albums, both used and new. “It’s not like you’ve never heard music before, I’m not the only one in our apartment who listens to it.”

“I like Van Morrison.” Dirk’s browsing the “M” section. “And Frank Sinatra.”

Todd nimbly pulls “Come Fly With Me” out of the lineup. “Like this?”

Dirk smiles. “Exactly like that.”

They decide on picking up the Frank Sinatra album, “Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen, an Elvis album, and a Van Morrison album, the last two greatest hits collections. Todd goes up to pay. Dirk gasps at the sight of a shaggy dog that ambles from behind the counter.

“Todd, this record store is _amazing,_ ” he whispers. He looks at the cashier, an older woman with bright pink hair. “Can I pet your dog?”

She smiles. “Of course, honey. Her name’s Rita.”

Dirk sits cross legged on the floor a small distance from the counter and pets Rita. “You’re such a good dog,” he tells her. “I don’t know you very well, but I’m sure of it.”

“Your boyfriend’s a sweet guy,” he hears the woman tell Todd.

“Yeah.” Todd sounds affectionate. “He is.”

Dirk’s heart skips a beat. He goes red and beams at the dog.

 

Dirk wakes up with a shudder and a gasp, which is unusual for him.

Normally his waking from nightmares is soundless, motionless. He’ll lie in bed, waiting for his heart to start pounding, for his lungs to ease into working again. Right now, though, his breaths are juddering more than normal, he’s shaking, and he knows that right now, every second he is with Todd, he will feel those unrelenting waves of guilt.

He gently releases Todd and quietly sneaks out of their bedroom, going to sit on their couch. He hunches over a little, hands clasped tight, eyes squeezed shut, breathing still unsteady.

Maybe a minute later, he hears footsteps that stop where he thinks is probably the doorway.

“So is this a you need to be alone thing?” Todd’s voice is rasping from having just exited sleep. “Or a you not wanting to worry me thing?”

Dirk opens his eyes but doesn’t look at him. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“That’s nice.” Todd sounds calm. “Not the answer to the question I asked you, though. Not a bad job avoiding it. We’ve both had experience with this, and as a professional, I have to say, I’m impressed.”

“I thought it was pretty inspired myself.”

“Also not an answer.”

Dirk had just been in a world where Todd’s blood was once more all over his hands as Todd told him in a surprisingly stable voice that he hated him, he was never forgiving him, that if he was going to die, he was going to die with nothing but poison and loathing towards Dirk in his heart. He doesn’t know how to cut to the chase with that. How can he even bring that up? How can he say _I know logically you’re not going to leave me but my subconscious seems to still be a little uncertain on the topic_.

“Do you want me to go?” Todd asks.

“No,” Dirk says immediately. The guilt and anxiety may be still roiling, but as it turns out what he wants is Todd to be here, without a bullet inside him, who isn’t spitting venom at him, who doesn’t have the metallic smell of blood cloying around him. “No, please, if you don’t want to.”

“Of course.” Todd leans over the back of the couch next to Dirk. He wonders if Todd’s worried that he’ll spook if he sits next to him, even though it’s their couch that they bought together. He can see out of the corner of his eye that his hands are also clasped in front of him, albeit far more loosely.

They’re both silent for a couple minutes.

“So was it one of the ones where the other is dying or where the other hates you for what’s happened to us?”

Dirk finally looks at him, surprised. Todd raises his eyebrows.

“You’re not the only one who gets nightmares, you know. The universe apparently hasn’t forgotten about either of us. I’m willing to bet they all have the same settings. That they even star the same people.”

“Why would I hate you?”

“They used me to hurt you. Could mean resentment and, well, feelings turning bitter, I guess.”

“There’s no way-“

“I know,” Todd interrupts. “I know when I’m awake. I forget when I’m asleep, I guess.”

They’re quiet again. Dirk returns his staring to his hands.

“It was a sort of both nightmare,” he finally says.

“Oh, good.” His tone is dry, but none of that dryness is directed at Dirk, just at the situation.

“You can always tell me when you have those, you know.”

He gives Dirk a pointed look.

“I am fully aware that I’m not practicing what I preach here, but I’d like to know, is all. If I can’t keep mine a secret, it’s hardly fair that you get to.”

Todd’s lips quirk a little. “Didn’t you once tell me that you and fair don’t have a lot to do with each other?”

“Yes.” Dirk looks back at him. “Then I met someone who started teaching me just by being around him to expect better for myself and the people I care about, and you are at the very top of that list.”

Todd flushes a deep red, like this can somehow be a surprise. He quickly turns his gaze to the cushions, smoothing the ones flat against the back of the couch.

“Because you are, you know.” It’s suddenly important that he says it out loud, even if he’s usually assumed it’s an unspoken thing. “You’re not just at the top of the list. There is you, and there is the list below you. You take precedence before it. You’ve transcended the list in every possible way there is to transcend something.”

Todd’s hands still, then move up to hold onto the edge of the couch, clutching it like he needs it to keep him upright.

“There’s not something I hear often,” he tells Dirk haltingly.

“And it pains me to know that’s true.”

Because Todd deserves someone to care about the way Dirk does, even if on his worse days Dirk’s not sure he deserves him. He’s still coming down from the nightmare, the furious, vitriolic Todd dying in his arms. And the real Todd, the honest one, the one he falls asleep and wakes up next to every day, is here. Trying to help.

Todd moves to properly sit next to Dirk, and suddenly Dirk’s not seeing his hands stained with Todd’s red superimposed over real life, he’s seeing Todd take his hand.

“You’re before the beginning of all my good lists,” he says. “There’s no one else there, nightmares and all.”

His hands have started trembling a little. He knows Todd can feel it, but he doesn’t care. Knows it doesn’t matter to Todd.

Dirk takes their hands, closes his eyes, and presses a lingering kiss to the top of Todd’s hand. Todd’s hand starts quivering, too. Todd buries his forehead in the side of Dirk’s neck. Dirk pulls their hands to his chest, his breathing still a little uneven, but for much better reasons now.

 

They fall asleep in the hammock. In the morning, Dirk assumes the weather is cloudy, because the sunlight that strikes Todd’s sleeping face is barely there. It still feels like it illuminates him. It still feels like it makes him even more beautiful to him than usual. Dirk gazes at him in his arms, everything feeling soft, everything feeling wonderful.

 

Against the first window in the living room, the one that does not have the hammock hanging in front of it, they’ve shoved a second couch just long enough for Dirk to be able to lie down flat on. It’s rose pink, and very soft, and sort of beat up. He loves it. When he was a teenager, he would sit in library window seats reading about detectives and dreaming of having his own one day. It’s not precisely the same, but it’s close enough, cushy throw pillows pressed against the arms.

He’s lying on it and reading a book, propped against the arm. Todd finishes putting away his recently dry clothes (they bought a washer and dryer and put them in the second bedroom that would have been Dirk’s originally) and walks over to Dirk. He crawls on top of him, putting the side of his head against the middle of Dirk’s chest, the arm against the back of the chest wormed in against Dirk’s side, the other dangling off the edge of the couch. Dirk loosely rests an arm on his back. This isn’t an unusual occurrence. Todd likes to take a nap on top of him while he’s lying on this couch sometimes.

“What’re you reading?” Todd asks with a small yawn.

“A poetry book. Sonnets.”

“Sounds nice.” He sits up a bit, front still almost flat against Dirk’s, just enough that he can look at him. His hair is disheveled. Dirk reaches out with the arm previously across him and gently combs it down. Todd goes a little red and reaches out to push Dirk’s glasses up. He feels himself go pink. Todd smiles slightly, looking satisfied, and returns to his former position. Dirk puts his arm back.

Dirk continues reading, his hand moving up to run his fingers through Todd’s hair. He makes a very small contented noise. Eventually, the rise and fall of his chest is deep and steady against Dirk, his body still. Dirk flips a page and pauses at something. He stares at it for a few moments. Moves the book slightly to look at Todd, eyes closed, face peaceful. Returns his gaze to the book.

“ _I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where_ ,” he whispers. “ _I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close._ ”

Dirk quietly dog ears the page before going back to Todd. A split second after, he becomes abruptly aware that Todd’s heartbeat is suddenly pounding against his chest. His hand stops brushing through Todd’s hair. Both of them are very, very still.

Then the hand that was hanging off the couch comes up and loosely curls in the side of Dirk’s shirt. Todd presses up slightly closer to lay his head just below Dirk’s collarbone, nestles into him a little further. Dirk grins and closes his eyes, feeling breathless.

 

Dirk’s not waking up as early in the mornings as he used to. It’s taking less time than it did when he got out of Blackwing the first time. He thinks it must be because now he falls asleep in a bed with Todd, who was not woken up regularly for testing, who was held in a room to rot until he was deemed useful to hurt Dirk, and who is a natural late riser. Waking up with one of them folded into the other, Todd's breathing steady and even, face usually peaceful, has started to ease him away from the very early waking times, gently move him back into normal bed times. He is no longer being kept exhausted in part to keep him docile. He is pressed next to the most important person in his world, who he gets to smile at when they're finally both awake, who always smiles back, both of them silently aware that they are still getting used to the fact that they are here, together, alive, mostly intact, and that there is something marvelous in waking up and seeing the proof, the best proof possible.

When Dirk wakes up now, Todd is next to him lying on his stomach, face resting on the pillow towards Dirk, no nightmares clouding his face. Dirk is lying right next to him, also on his stomach, also looking at Todd, an arm thrown across his back. Dirk smiles sleepily at the peace of the moment and closes his eyes again. He thinks he can probably get back to sleep. 

There's a noise in the living room. His eyes abruptly open, his entire body going rigid. 

The sound of the footsteps is soft enough that Todd is still fast asleep, but not so soft that Dirk, now completely alert, can't hear them. He is suddenly a livewire of anxiety. Have they been found? Has Blackwing come to take him back? Have they come for Todd?

They can't have Todd.

Dirk gets out of bed as carefully as he can. Todd doesn't stir. Silently he pads across the room, quietly lifting the cricket bat they keep by the door on the way. He slowly heads for the living room, cricket bat raised. When he sees who it is, his arm lowers again in surprise. 

Riggins is looking at the record Todd had left out from the other night, the Best of Elvis Presley album picked up from where it had been still resting on top of the back of their battered old couch. Riggins looks up at the sound of his entrance. They stare at each other. 

Dirk lowers the cricket bat to the ground, never taking his eyes off Riggins, being careful not to make a noise that might wake Todd. He's not concerned about the bat. Riggins might have CIA training but Dirk is certain that, at this moment, he could take him. 

"That's Todd's," he says. Riggins must hear in his voice what this means and he puts the record back where it had been. Good. People who are or ever were Blackwing don't get to touch things close to Todd's again. 

"Dirk."

Dirk's not surprised to hear the name he's chosen. Meant to ingratiate. 

"Why are you here?"

"You're both in the clear. Everything's been cleared with the CIA. No one will be coming for you."

Dirk nods. "That's good," he observes, before striding over and punching Riggins in the face. 

It hurts his hand more than he thought, but he manages not to make a noise, any expression of pain he might have made masked from Riggins, who is too startled as he staggers back to look at Dirk. 

"Yeah," Riggins mutters. "I guess that's fair."

"Not even close," Dirk tells him, stepping back far enough that he doesn't think Riggins is going to try and reach out to him.

"Dirk-"

"Do not." His voice is more dangerous than he's ever heard it, more furious than it was even talking to Friedkin or Wilson. "Do _not_ try and _defend_ yourself to me, Colonel."

"I'm trying to make up for everything, Dirk."

The rage inside him burns hotter. It's replaced the anxiety that was just drumming through him. "You're not my friend and you never were, so you might as well just call me Icarus, because that is all I have ever been to you."

"Dirk-"

" _Stop_. You locked a child for six years in a facility to be poked and prodded and examined like a mouse running on a wheel in a lab. You pretended like you were my friend when all you were was my captor, trying to get me to cooperate. And somehow, that is not even the worst thing you did to me."

Riggins says nothing.

"You took away my _Name_. You took away something that is _important_ to a person, something that is _private_ , something that is _sacred_. I woke up at the age of ten in a hospital bed with you telling me my appendix had suddenly needed to come out in the night, but I know better now. I know what you did to me, and you never even told me. You implied it meant no one wanted me, would ever want me. You said that I had no one. That I _was_ no one. All because you thought it would make me compliant with you. That you could warp my loneliness into loyalty. And I never bent your way, but I lived with what you whispered in my ear in the name of blind obedience for twenty years. You cannot _begin_ to make up for everything. What you've done for us is an act of basic human decency. That is all. There's nothing you can do to atone. And I don't have any interest in your attempts to try or convince me otherwise, Director."

Riggins's jaw tightens at the designation. Good. Perhaps he can get a taste of being called something you hate or have tried to leave behind.

"Dirk?" He hears mumbled from the bedroom, as well as someone's weight being put on their creaky floorboards. He doesn't look behind him, continuing to stare at Riggins. "What's going on?" Footsteps. "If you're cursing at our shitty coffeemaker again, I understand the sentiment, but it's early and-"

Todd stops when his voice is closest and Dirk finally looks. He's standing in the doorway, all the sleepiness in his voice gone. He's staring at Riggins with pure rage. He takes a step forwards. Stops. Dirk sees his eyes flit to the bruise beginning on Riggins's face. To Dirk's knuckles, he presumes a little red. To Dirk's face. 

Todd takes his step back. Instead turns and walks to stand next to Dirk. He folds his arm and looks levelly at Riggins in silence, face still cold, obviously ready to fly at Riggins if he needs to, and Dirk loves him almost more than he can possibly handle.

"The Director was just telling me how we're free to do as we like now," Dirk tells Todd calmly, looking back to Riggins. "And how he's going to give us the apartment, and make sure our records are clear enough that no one will be suspicious, and how after all that, he won't bother us again."

"Sounds good," Todd answers. 

Riggins's eyes turn to Todd. He opens his mouth.

"Do not try and appeal to him." Dirk's voice is less calm now. "You would have taken something from him, too. The sadist you dragged into our lives who replaced you took things from both of us. I would assume you know what.” Riggins’s face twitches a little, confirming it for Dirk. He wonders how he heard about Todd’s Name. Thinks about punching him again for Todd. Passes on it. “Friedkin nearly took him from me. I assure you, he’s not going to have any sympathy for you, either."

Riggins closes his mouth. Looks back at Dirk. Dirk meets his gaze. He has a good idea of what his face must look like. 

Riggins nods abruptly, turning for the door. "Mr. Brotzman." He opens the door. "Icarus." The door shuts behind him. Todd moves like he's about to go to the door. Dirk can guess why.

"I told him to." Dirk's still watching the door. "He doesn't have any right to my name." 

He looks back down at Todd, who also pulls his steely gaze from the door. His expression softens when he looks at Dirk, as it so often does. He motions for Dirk's hand and Dirk gives it to him. His knuckles aren't bruised. He's not sure he hit Riggins hard enough for that. They are red, though, and they do hurt. Todd inspects it gently, no doubt in reflection of that.

"Did it feel good?" he asks. 

"Very."

"Did it hurt?"

"Also very. I'm not a big puncher."

Todd smiles a little, still checking his hand, even if there's clearly nothing else to find wrong with them. "I wouldn't have guessed."

"There's no call to be rude, Todd."

Todd's not even pretending to inspect his hand anymore. Dirk doesn't mind. "Are you okay?"

Dirk thinks about it for a minute. "Yes."

Todd looks at him, raising his eyebrows. 

"I am. I might have never seen him again. But I did. I said what I needed to say to him. He knows where we stand now. And he's smarter than to come back. This is the best outcome. And I'm okay with that."

Todd smiles again. He kisses Dirk's knuckles softly enough that they won't sting. Dirk makes a surprised but not displeased noise. Todd smiles a little more before he pulls his lips back. "What do you want to do now?"

Dirk considers. "I want to go back to bed."

"We can do that." Todd loosely takes Dirk's hand, careful to make sure his fingers don't rest too much on his knuckles. As they walk back, Dirk steps a little closer and presses his forehead against Todd's temple, closing his eyes. It's Todd's turn to make the happy startled noise. Dirk grins.

He keeps his head where it is and his eyes closed as they walk. He trusts Todd to guide him.

 

It's a few days after Riggins comes and Dirk is sitting in front of their sofa window seat on the floor. The sun is setting and casting beautiful rays on the wood. Dirk's not sure how they got a cheap enough price on this place to keep paying for it even with the small amount they've got now. He wonders if Riggins had anything to do with it.

"Riggins called me this morning," Todd says from the kitchen. He's doing dishes, the mismatched ones they'd picked up at the thrift store when paper plates had filled up the trash too quickly. Some are normal. Some are strange shapes and colors. Dirk loves the latter the most. "He says that it's done. We have proper, clean records now and the apartment is ours."

The apartment is theirs. Dirk smiles. 

"We own an apartment," he says.

"Yeah, we do." Dirk can hear Todd's smile.

"We're going to have an agency together."

"I might have to take an extra job." Todd sounds like he's scrubbing the plates hard. They have a dishwasher now, something that delights Todd. But every once in a while some food is stuck on too hard and he goes at it with determination. "Just for a little while. Til we get going." The smile widens, Dirk is certain. "I probably won't make very much money as your assistant anyway."

"Partner."

"What?" 

Dirk's been thinking about this. "Partner. You're not my assistant or ward or anything like that. You're my partner."

"Oh." Todd sounds startled but happy. "That's... good. That's good. And nice.”

Dirk smiles at the floor. "Good."

"Do I get my name in the agency?”

"I suppose."

Todd laughs. "You don't have to."

Todd's laugh is good. Getting to hear it is good. It's all so good. 

"Let's go traveling together," he blurts out. The sound of the dishes stops. 

"What?"

"Let's travel, you and me. Once we have the kind of money that means we could do it."

Todd is silent and Dirk starts panicking a little so he does what he tends to go for in cases like this: he starts babbling. 

"I mean, we don't have to, we don't need to, it was just something I thought about, in Blackwing, I thought we could maybe go abroad. I always wanted to see Paris and they say it's the city of, well, I thought it could be nice, and maybe we could travel around the country, I'm sure the universe would provide another Corvette, we could just drive around for a bit, and I could make you a mixtape, if you wanted, I don't know your music taste precisely but I'm sure I could figure it out, and I also don't know if people still do that, so I could also not do that, if you'd prefer, or we could not do it at all, if you'd prefer that too, we don't need to, if it's weird, I can just stop talking, which I probably should have done earlier, but I can stop now."

Dirk clenches his jaw shut. He hears Todd pad forwards but he doesn't take his eyes off the floor. 

Todd sits across from him cross legged. He reaches out to Dirk's hand. He doesn't quite hold it. Instead he laces his fingers loosely into Dirk's so their knuckles are almost touching, their hands forming a little hut on the ground, fingertips brushing the floor. 

"I'd like to go traveling with you," Todd says. "Anywhere you want. All of it sounds nice. And I'd like that mixtape. You can put anything you want on it." Todd's fingers in his feel nice. "I'd follow you anywhere."

Dirk swallows. "Okay," he whispers. 

"Okay," Todd repeats. 

Both of them sit there in contented silence, Dirk looking at their joined hands.

"I never said it," Todd says suddenly. Dirk looks up. Todd seems a little hesitant.

"Never said what?"

"I just. I know I never actually heard you say it, but I know Friedkin said you did when I got brought in and you confirmed it, and then Friedkin taunted me with you saying that, well, you saying it, in defending me, and I guess the, uh, the other day on the couch, what you read to me, sort of counts so that’s about twice and a half you've said it now, and I haven't said it once."

Dirk abruptly realizes what he's talking about and quickly looks out the window to disguise the rush of medium level panic that hits him. 

"I mean, you don't have to," he tells him. "It's not, it isn't. You don't have to say anything you don't want to. I'm not going to be upset. It's fine. It's all fine."

Todd sighs a little. 

"Listen," he says, and the panic gets worse. "I'm not good at this stuff. I'm moody and I get angry easily. I fumble my words a lot with emotional stuff. Feelings don't come naturally to me, and I am terrible about confronting them and communicating them. But, well, I love you."

Dirk whips his head to stare at Todd. Todd's not looking at him, gaze boring a hole into the floor.

"I love you. And I have for a while. And I want to try and be healthier at this for you. I don't want to internalize stuff until it sours me and it hurts both of us. I want to be better at this kinda thing. And I want to be with you, however you want it, for as long as you'll let me, if you still feel the same way you did in Blackwing.”

Dirk's world feels like it's exploding. Not the way it did when Friedkin revealed that Todd's Name was Dirk's, but in the way a supernova looks, beautiful, so warm. Todd has chased away the frigidness of Blackwing so completely. Todd loves him. Todd _loves_ him. Then some of what he said catches up with him. 

"Why on Earth wouldn't I feel the same as I did in Blackwing?"

"I..." Todd looks uncertain. "I didn't get you out before they could really, properly hurt you. I didn't even find you. I was brought in. I couldn't save you. And... I don't have your Name anymore. We're not connected anymore. I didn't know if that made things different."

Dirk stares. 

"You are honestly the most baffling and insane person I have ever met, and I'm including the man with the chimpanzee doll he had stitched to the shoulder of his clothing."

Todd blinks at the ground. "What?"

Dirk scoochs himself closer so he's right in front of Todd.

"You did save me," Dirk tells him. "You may not have been a part of the breakout team, but you were still going to come for me, you still tried to take me with you when you attempted a breakout. You were willing to fight for me. After that moment in the hallway? With Friedkin? You promised me we would get out, you told me you still cared about me, you didn't blame me for you getting shot. You gave me hope where I had none. You made me feel like a human being when I remember very little from that point before because of how depressed I felt. You saved me from all that. If you hadn't told me those things, I would have kept sinking to the point I would have been useless to them and they would have killed me and you. You saved us both."

Todd's gazing at him now, eyes a little wet. Dirk's are, too. 

"Todd, did you want me any less when you knew I didn't have your name? Did you stop thinking of me as a soulmate because you would never see your handwriting on my skin?"

Todd looks vaguely horrified and maybe even a little affronted. "Of course not."

Dirk curls his fingers a little so instead of making a small cage on the floor, they are curved in an arc so the tips of his fingers are nestled within Todd's. "Then how on Earth could you think I would ever feel any different about you?"

Todd looks a little startled. Dirk leans in a little closer, nearer to Todd's space, trying to make him understand. 

"I love you. I love you for all that you are and I have since we dug up buried treasure in the woods together. Before, really, but I could only allow myself to use the word after I knew you had my Name. It was too fast to fall in love with you, I thought, couldn't really be true. But it was. I can't pin down the moment when it happened. I can't tell you where or when. Maybe it was when you agreed to come help me in the hallway of the Ridgely. Maybe it was in the death maze. Maybe it was when you threw a shoe at me. But I did. It really did happen that fast."

Dirk gently tugs Todd's hand up with his fingers until their palms are resting against each other upright, fingers interlocked and resting on the top of their hands.

"You said we're not connected anymore, but you're wrong. Everything is connected. And _we_ are connected. I am connected to you and you are connected to me and the fact we don't have our Names anymore doesn't change that. It doesn't change the fact that we were supposed to be together. It doesn't change the fact that I love you so much that my feelings for you couldn't even fit in this entire building. It doesn't change the fact that you love me, too. The length that I am willing to stay with you is until the very end, and if you don't want to commit to that, that's fine, but I'm not letting you go because you've somehow got this self loathing and guilt for what happened to us, or because you have this notion that not having a Name could possibly make me love you any less. If I can't blame myself for what happened to you, you can't blame yourself for what happened to me. I meant what I told you. The only thing my name ever meant to me was that it meant I was yours. And I’m still yours. I’m always yours.”

Todd watches his face for a moment with glistening eyes. “Until the very end," he whispers. 

"Yes. Until the very end. I promise."

Todd puts a trembling hand on Dirk's face. He brings their foreheads together. 

"How did someone like me possibly find someone like you?" he murmurs. 

"You didn't. I'm the one who climbed through your window." Dirk's other hand has moved to Todd's neck. "But I ask myself the same question every day about you."

Todd pulls their foreheads apart and hesitantly pushes his face a little further into Dirk's space. His lips only hardly touch Dirk's, feather light, like he's still not entirely sure this is something he gets. Dirk shakes his head. 

Despite all the fervor Dirk had in Blackwing, all that ache to touch and kiss Todd, Dirk doesn't haul him in for a desperate kiss. This isn't the moment for that. Everything is delicate right now, _they_ are delicate right now, and such a kiss, he worries, might shatter them both. Besides which, he h a s been touching Todd. Every night and every morning, he wakes up to one of them holding onto the other. When they sit, they are pressed against each other. They hold hands often enough. Dirk and Todd are touching more often than not. It's not as bad of a yearning anymore. 

But just because the kiss is gentle doesn't mean it's not firm as he rests his hands on either side of Todd’s jaw. If his words aren't enough, if Todd's still not sure, than he wants to communicate everything to him this way, that he loves Todd, that he wants him here, that he wants him to stay, that until the very end is something he means. Todd doesn't really move for a moment, but then he makes a soft noise that somehow sounds like a small sigh and pained all at once. One hand moves to the side of Dirk's face and the other on his shoulder, lightly squeezing it. Dirk takes the hint and adjusts so he can press against Todd's chest, sliding one hand to his hair and the other to where his neck meets his shoulder. Todd makes that same noise but lacking the pained part, arm now moving to wrap loosely against his neck, his hand just brushing Dirk’s other shoulder.

Dirk only pulls away when he's feeling a little dizzy from lack of air. They barely part, close enough that Dirk can feel Todd's uneven breath on his lips, and is sure Todd can feel the same. It's the most curious, tingling, marvelous feeling. 

Dirk opens his eyes first. Todd's cheeks are flushed. His lips are very red. His eyelashes are fluttering slightly. Dirk could watch him forever.

Todd's eyes open. He searches Dirk's face and he's not sure what he finds there, but he must like it, because his face softens and gentles. He gives Dirk a small, private smile which Dirk returns. 

Todd wets his lips. 

"The only thing I really want to do right now is kiss you for a while," Todd whispers.

Dirk brushes their noses together. Todd goes a little pinker. "I think that could be arranged."

 

Saturdays, Dirk thinks drowsily, are the best day ever invented.

It’s been about five months since Riggins gave them the all clear. The agency is starting to gain a little traction, enough that Todd was able to quit his second job. He and Todd are starting to talk about getting a cat.

He doesn’t wake up early that often anymore, but today he is conscious before Todd. He’s still sleepy, and he doesn’t really want to be awake properly yet, so he doesn’t think he’s going to get up and make coffee that will be so bad it needs to masked heavily with cream and sugar (they finally got a new machine as soon as they had enough money saved they could buy a luxury, but Dirk always manages to do it poorly somehow, Todd making far superior stuff). But he _does_ need to use the bathroom, so he disentangles himself from an out cold Todd and staggers out to it.

As Dirk walks back to the bed, intending on lying in bed with Todd for a while longer, when there’s suddenly a pain on his chest, like burning and tingling at once.

“ _Owwww_ , ow ow ow.” He clutches at his shirt. Is he having a heart attack? Is that what’s happening? It doesn’t feel like it’s inside him but against him. Maybe there’s something wrong with his shirt somehow that’s causing this very weird thing?

Dirk stands in front of the full length mirror they have in the bedroom and tugs his shirt off. There doesn’t look like there’s any burns or cuts or-

Dirk’s world spins.

He rushes to the nightstand, scrabbles for his glasses. He returns to the mirror, getting as close as possible, staring at just under his left collarbone.

It’s there. It’s real.

Dirk dashes to the bed, dropping the glasses back where they came from as he climbs on top of the bed and shakes Todd by the shoulders. “Todd. Todd, wake up.”

Todd groans. “I didn’t sleep well last night, dude, I dreamt about getting poked with something a little hot. Whatever this is, can it wait until later?”

“Absolutely not. Wake up right now.”

Todd sits up, grumbling. “If this is something really minor, I’m gonna-“

He stops when he actually sees Dirk’s chest. His jaw drops and his eyes go wide.

“Is that-“

“Yeah, yes, it is.” Dirk can’t stop grinning.

Todd reaches out hesitantly to touch, and then stops just millimeters away. He’s gotten much better about his worries about Dirk and deserving and getting to have, but it still crops up sometimes, and evidently this has caused it to resurface. Dirk impatiently threads his fingers through Todd’s, pushes down until they hit where they can go no further into his hand, and tightens them so he can drag Todd’s to his skin.

When Todd touches the messily scrawled Name under his left collarbone, his fingers are trembling, but Dirk doesn’t think he’s going to pull away or anything like that, so he lets go of Todd’s hand. Todd traces the letters with his index finger, making Dirk shiver a little.

“You have the worst handwriting,” he tells Todd. Todd laughs shakily, gazing in awe at his name on Dirk’s skin.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “I kind of do.” His fingertips are just resting on it now. “That’s my name.”

“Yeah.”

“My name, on your chest.”

“Yes.”

Todd laughs again. “Amazing.” He tears his eyes away from the Name to look at Dirk. “How-“

“I don’t know. it just happened.”

Todd grins. “The universe will not be thwarted permanently by the likes of Blackwing.”

Dirk laughs now. He’s still got his laughing face when he comes to a realization.

“You said you dreamed someone was poking you with something hot in your dreams.”

“Yeah. weird, too, cause it was a family picnic dream.”

“Where were you getting poked?”

“In my back, kind of…” he trails off, eyes widening. He and Dirk stare at each other for a moment before he works on getting his shirt off. Dirk moves behind him to check.

He gazes in between Todd’s shoulder blades.

“Well?” Todd sounds nervous.

“It’s there. It’s my name. Todd, it’s _my_ name.”

Todd’s entire body sags in relief. “Oh, thank god, it’s back.”

“No, no, Todd, no, it’s _my_ name, it’s my name.”

“I believe you.”

“No, it’s-“ he traces the Name now, feeling the goosebumps that rise from it. “It’s my name. It says Dirk Gently, not Svlad Cjelli. It has my name.”

Todd takes a sharp intake of breath. “ _Dirk_ ,” he whispers.

Dirk presses his forehead to the back of Todd’s neck. They sit there quietly,breathing from both a little ragged.

Then suddenly Todd turns around, eyes bright, and enthusiastically kisses Dirk. The force of it is enough to knock him off balance, Dirk making a muffled startled noise. Fortunately he manages to orient it so both of them fall on their right side, away from the floor. He responses with the same eagerness until Todd’s grinning too wide for them to be able to.

“I can’t kiss you if you keep doing that,” Dirk tells him. He tries for stern, but he’s smiling now too.

“I can’t help it.” His hand has flattened over the Name on Dirk’s chest. Dirk’s has drifted so that he is holding Todd by gently pushing him closer while covering Todd’s Name with his own flat palm. “I, god, Dirk, this is just…”

“Yes.” Dirk kisses the tip of Todd’s nose because it’s the closest part he can reach. “It is.”

Todd shakes his head a little, still grinning.

“I would have loved you no matter what, you know,” he tells Dirk. “This, your Name, mine, it’s… it’s _incredible_ , but even if they’d never come back, even if we never saw them, I wouldn’t have loved you any less for it.”

“I’d have loved you even if the Name on your back was someone else’s,” Dirk answers.

Todd looks stunned, then flushes and inches down just enough that he can bury his face in Dirk’s neck. Dirk angles his head back, grinning.

Eventually, Todd’s head still pressed into him, Dirk’s hand still on his back, he says “I used to dream of you back at the base, you know.”

Todd stirs a little. “I dreamt of you, too.”

“I always knew that it wasn’t really you.”

“Me, too.”

Dirk blinks. “Really?”

“I mean, not right off the bat. It’d take me half, maybe almost all of the dream. But I’d get there by the end.”

“How could you tell?”

“You weren’t… right.”

“And I am always right in real life, of course.”

“You are _not_ , and that’s not the way I meant it. I meant that you didn’t act like you. You were all… you were mechanical, almost, once you clued in, you could see it. You said the right words, but only like you were programmed to do it.”

“Mmm. You were the same. Something hollow at the core.”

“Yeah.”

“I told you we were connected.”

Todd laughs.

“You know why I couldn’t ever get you right?” Dirk asks.

“Why couldn’t you ever get me right?”

“Because I couldn’t ever properly capture all of the weird and wonderful details that are you.” He shifts his head down a little closer. “You’re shouty and you tell the sun you’re going to fight it some mornings and I once witnessed you eat a cookie with a fork and knife.”

“My fingers were _dirty_ from digging in the dirt at the McPherson’s place,” he mumbles. “I was _hungry._ And if we’re pulling out weird shit the other does, you have the market cornered, the very least reason why being that you keep throwing bouncy balls from the hammock.”

Dirk can’t help a smile. “Let me _finish._ ”

“Sorry.”

“So there’s the weird things. But I wake up every morning with you. Sometimes I wake up and you’re on your side watching me, and your hair is in your face a little, and you’re only very nearly smiling but definitely extremely far from frowning, and you’re lightly running your fingers down my back. When you say something with feelings attached slips out a lot more plainly than you intended, you get flustered and start smiling and it’s adorable. Sometimes you doze off against me while you’re watching TV and mumble in your sleep. You’re the strangest person I’ve ever met, and you mean every touch and every word you dispense to me, and I love you almost more than I can carry sometimes.”

Todd pulls back to look Dirk in the face. His eyes are teary. So are Dirk’s.

“I love you, too,” he whispers. “So absurdly much.”

“I know.”Dirk runs his thumb against the Name on Todd’s back. He looks like he might be close to purring. “Want to kiss some more?”

“Yes,” Todd says, and shifts back up so he can guide Dirk into one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, we weren't going to leave you hanging for very long.
> 
> Some end notes:
> 
> -while mapping a story out I'll feel bad for characters, but while actually writing the fic itself, mostly I am either delighted to write these things or just full of a sort of brisk drive instead. Writing from Dirk gloating to Friedkin about having a soulmate up to Todd coming in the door was one of the few times I've felt bad for a character and what was about to happen to the two of them
> 
> -you bet your ass that them in the clothes shopping scene is the two of them in the promo pics from season 2
> 
> \- [ these are the curtains Todd buys ](https://www.bedbathandbeyond.com/store/product/crayola-reg-cosmic-burst-84-inch-rod-pocket-window-curtain-panel-in-black/1045350542?categoryId=12198)
> 
> -my love for that one Neruda passage sneaks its way in once more
> 
> -there was supposed to be a bit where Todd asked if the Rowdy Three if they'd started the fire that set off the sprinklers, and when he got a yes by way of identical grins, told them that this had kicked off the path to Friedkin's death, and how excited they were, but I forgot to do it, so I think I'll probably slide it in there once we get the one from Todd's perspective done, that way I'm more comfortable getting their interactions down once I've actually written more of them
> 
> -and yep, we do plan on getting Todd's POV done at some point (a lot goes on in this fic with him that you don't see, too, and we always laid this story out seeing both their perspectives), but the two of us also have about three bajillion (more or less) verses going, so when it'll actually get done remains to be seen
> 
> -finally, they do go traveling, and Dirk does make Todd that mix, and because I have a playlist making problem, I can show it to you. [ I'm linking to the tumblr post that has it, from there you can go to a link on Spotify and a link on Playmoss ](http://cosmicoceanfic.tumblr.com/post/164472918391/kick-at-the-darkness-til-it-bleeds-daylight)
> 
> Y'all, we've both been so super excited to see all of your comments. Thank you so much for reading, and for your kind words!


End file.
